


Something Borrowed

by BucketofWater



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Butchering of Canon, Found Family, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, So Much Pining It's Immeasurable, The Mighty Nein Are All A Little Bit In Love With Each Other, Trent Ikithons Grade A Parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27136496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BucketofWater/pseuds/BucketofWater
Summary: "“So,” Jester began, voice very small. “Either one of us marries one of you, or you’ll never trust us again?”The Bright Queen did not respond to that, she simply nodded her head in affirmation. Her hands were pulled back to fold neatly in her lap as she regarded them with something that Caleb would dare to consider pity lingering in the sternness of her eye.“I’ll do it,” Jester said and the silent room erupted into motion."--Or, the one where Jester and Essek get fake-real engaged and the rest of the Nein are left as their helpless chaperones while trying to figure out how to put a stop to it.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 35
Kudos: 157





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just genuinely miss Essek and this plot has been fully occupying my mind at the moment. It's still in progress but I have a feeling this will be a long one.
> 
> Bit of forewarning: there's a few different dynamics I wanted to explore for this so the canon is absolutely not in order - sorry if this gets annoying!! I wanted to explore these different things so just sort of squished it all together. Feel free to consider it an AU or a butchering x basically; the war is still ongoing; the Nein know of Esseks betrayal; Nott is still a goblin.
> 
> any comments or kudos would be fully appreciated, but I hope you enjoy regardless <3

The Bright Queen only held an audience with the Nein on very rare occasions.

Gaining her fleeting attention was often a process that required a significant amount of grovelling, and not without a portion of pretending that any of their findings were of far vaster import than they truly were.

Beacons, as it turned out, were harder to stumble across than Caleb had initially assumed. Without the artefact in their possession it was much harder to walk up to the ruling Queen and demand her undivided attention.

So it was curious, then, when she summoned the Nein to her courts of her volition. 

“We’re going to be executed,” Fjord had said after the summons were received, voice drenched in a solemn sincerity. “We’re dead.”

“Dead, dead, dead!” Jester had chirruped back, voice ringing with a joviality that Caleb did not share.

They were still strangers to Roshona and all of her moon-lit and tangled lands. It would not surprise him too terribly to discover that their leaders had found their use of the Nein, and were now content to cut off their loose ends before they slunk back to the Empire with their heads laden with secrets. 

“Should I start on the circle?” Caleb asked, hesitantly. He slipped his hand into the folds of his pocket, his fingers dusting over the rough edges of his chalks. 

“Well we need to go, Caleb,” Jester insisted. “It would be really rude to ignore her like that, she’s like  _ super _ important.”

“Literally their Queen,” Fjord affirmed, a wry bemusement pulling at his mouth as he looked back at Jester. 

“I say we go and scope it out, get a feel for the atmosphere and if things go tits-up we can make a break for it then,” Beauregard offered, a tight knot of worry forming between her brows.

Caleb felt a flare of pride at that distrustful expression; always have faith in the children of the Empire to harbour such scepticism. 

“We best not keep her waiting,” Caduceus said after a time, his deep baritone rolling amongst them with a wave of reassurance. 

The streets were empty outside of the Xhorhaus. Dark cobbled roads echoed beneath their boots as they hurried towards the formidable impression of the Lucid Bastion on the horizon. Weak strings of dewy yellow light cascaded down from the street lamps, seeming abrasive and unfamiliar in the muted grey darkness they were submerged in. High above, the impression of a full moon cast the city in a sheet of radiant silver. 

Two guards were stationed at the entrance of the Bastion, postures achingly precise and uniforms dark and utterly regal. The leftmost guard nodded her acknowledgement as they approached, expression concealed behind the shining surface of her helm. 

Caleb stared at his own reflection for a moment, taking in the punched black bags that swelled beneath his eyes, staring at the discoloured bruise that was turning a sickly yellow where it blossomed over his cheekbone. 

He wished they had more time to prepare for such a meeting; part of him fleetingly considered casting an illusion to truss them all up, but he supposed that the Bright Queen would be competent enough to see through anything that he could throw together. 

They knew their way through the extravagant halls well enough by now that no escort was offered to them as they entered. The pristine white of the marble walls glimmered like facet gems in the magically enhanced torchlight, the black sconces bracketed to the walls in uniform little rows. 

It was not terribly unlike the citadel academy of Rexxentrum - perhaps a bit brighter, perhaps just as insidious beneath the surface. 

At the end of the hall a large door opened out into the lavish interior of the throne room, the polished marble of the floor reflecting their own distorted and bewildered expressions back at them as they kept their gazes respectfully low. Streams of silvery moonlight cut like ribbons through the expansive windows, causing the room to glimmer with some ethereal radiance. 

Seated upon her throne before them, with her expression decidedly blank and the tangles of her hair falling neatly over one shoulder, the Bright Queen watched their approach. Her robes flowed gossamer smooth over her form, pooling at the base of her feet. She was without any weapons, and in a land such as the one they found themselves in Caleb thought that that made her all the more terrible. 

Lingering to her left was Essek, hands clasped neatly together and his shuttered gaze not raising to meet Caleb’s own, even as he stared pointedly in a bid to win his attention. 

If this were some punishment or trap, he would have thought that Essek would spare them from it. Although it was not necessarily a wise decision, Essek was one of the few people in which Caleb placed his trust, as prone as the man was to betraying that favour. 

“Thank you for joining us-” The Bright Queen began, her tone measured and voice strong and reposeful. 

Her jaw closed with a resounding crack as Jester cried out, voice softened by the grin that broke out across her face. “Hi! Thank you for having us over, by the way.”

“I -” Even from their reverent position at her feet, Caleb noted the way the woman’s brow arched towards her hairline, following her eye as it flickered curiously towards Essek. Then, drawing a veil across her expression, she continued in a neutral tone: “Hello. I trust that you are here in response to my summons?”

Caleb nodded stiffly, allowing Beauregard to speak on their behalf with her disinterested “yeah.”

“I would like to preface this discussion with my thanks, and to extend my eternal gratitude to you all once more for your efforts in returning the Beacon to us.” Her tone was pinched, measured in the way that often braced for a brutal impact. Caleb attempted not to wince as she continued on. “Your hand in the deed will not be forgotten from recent memory.”

“But-” She continued, and Caleb scoffed.  _ Here we go, _ he thought. 

“I must confess that there have been rumours of doubt in your loyalties, and despite reports from some representatives I cannot continue to ignore the validity of some of the points raised when these concerns have been voiced.” She hesitated then, the pause not unnoticed by her court, if their anxious gazes were any indication. “Some of my consultants have pointed out how curiously convenient it is that a collection of uniquely skilled people of the Empire have stumbled into our courts bearing the one artefact that even our most prestigious scouts were unable to acquire.”

“What are you trying to say?” Beauregard interrupted, face drawn into an affronted glower. Caleb lashed out his hand, curling his fingers into a vice-like grip around the woman’s forearm. His silent plea must have translated somehow, as a moment later she spoke up again: “respectfully.”

Caleb kept his hand fastened to Beauregard’s arm, his fingertips numbed with an anxious energy even as his heart beat a terrible mantra in his chest. In the back of his throat he could taste the sulphur burn of ash and flame. 

“I am saying that we cannot allow ourselves to trust you entirely, not with your current standings.” The Bright Queen replied, simply. The expressionless impression of her face was deceived by the coiled rage in her tone. 

“But we brought you the Do-decha-thingy,” Jester said, voice momentarily small. 

“And that was appreciated,” Essek said. The sudden interruption of his voice caused Caleb to flinch, his eyes snapping up to lock squarely on the man where he stood. 

Something about him was decidedly off. From the moment their paths had crossed there had been something about Essek Thelyss that had radiated a confluence of power and intelligence. Maybe it was the swept-back neatness of his silver hair, or the uniform cut of robes so dark they seemed to become a void the longer you stared. His face, cut as it was with sharp angles so severe that it often disguised his youth. His face that was usually so schooled, so defined by an air of superiority that it rolled off of him in infuriating waves. Caleb stared with a slackened jaw because his face was pale, eyes ringed with a darkness of exhaustion, his expression for a moment vulnerable and almost scared. 

Caleb felt his heart lurch at that expression, and his free hand found residence in his pocket once more, fingering the cracked chalk like a life line. His eyes found Nott, huddled as she was behind Jester's skirts. Her lamplight-yellow eyes were narrowed into suspicious slits, and Caleb would be proud if he were not so suddenly terrified for her life. In that moment, suspended with tension and staring at the back of her hooded head, he realised that losing any of the Nein would be devastating, would be an unrecoverable loss. Losing Nott would be a mortal wound. There would be no hope of recovery only because Caleb would surely cease to be, without his shadow to keep him angled towards the light. 

“I would like for our allegiance to continue, I just agree that precautions should be taken to ensure that we are not being deceived. I am sure you all appreciate how tactfully this must be approached.” With a wave of her hand the Bright Queen seemed to dissipate any tension that was brewing between them, the anxiety raising to a screeching crescendo in the back of Caleb’s mind. 

“What could we do, to earn this favour?” Caleb interjected, reigning his voice into something modest. He deferred his gaze to the floor. “What more could we do to please you?”

“There are several ways to become Blood Kin, and to be considered a trusted person. A great deed in the name of the Dynasty, perhaps. One that we can ensure was done of your own volition, and not on behalf of the Empire to curry our favour for your own infiltration. It has been suggested, and most recommended, that the easiest route would be a betrothal.”

Caleb blinked, brain stuttering like some clockwork mechanism as he struggled to process the word in the context of their discussion. There was a beat of silence, during which all of his companions attempted to consider the same. Then, the room burst into a flurry of voices. 

“Excuse me?” Fjord snapped, his voice echoing across the acoustics of the room. He had the decency to seem abashed about it, a darkening hue touching his cheeks as he continued in a much lower tone. “You mean like a marriage?”

“A political marriage of convenience,” The Bright Queen elaborated. “Some of our finest Dens were founded on such arrangements.”

A weighted silence settled over them like some ghastly shroud, drawing all of the air out of the chamber until Caleb could hear nought but the rush of his own blood as it ebbed and crashed in his ear. A foreign emotion not so dissimilar to fear prickled through him, drawing into his bones until they ached. 

It felt as if an age transpired between them before anyone spoke again.

“So,” Jester began, voice very small. “Either one of us marries one of you, or you’ll never trust us again?”

The Bright Queen did not respond to that, she simply nodded her head in affirmation. Her hands were pulled back to fold neatly in her lap as she regarded them with something that Caleb would dare to consider pity lingering in the sternness of her eye.

“I’ll do it,” Jester said and the silent room erupted into motion. Each of his companions whirled to face Jester with expressions that ranged from terror to unbridled rage.

Nott’s hand slipped to rest on the holster that kept her crossbow and where they were lined against the furthest wall the Guardsmen seemed to perk up in interest. 

“No you won’t,” Beauregard snarled, just as Fjord interjected with great concern, “We should really think about this, weigh out all the options.”

“The deed that you requested, the act of service in your name.” Caleb stepped closer as he spoke, the heel of his boot seeming to crack heavily on the floor. “What would it take? Another Beacon?”

“That would likely be the only sufficient offering, under such circumstances,” replied the Bright Queen. 

“And you know where one is being kept?” Caleb pressed. 

“We do not.” 

It was Essek who responded, his arms crossed over his chest and fingers grappling with such intensity at his arms that his knuckles were bruised a pale lilac. 

“Thank you for the  _ choice _ ,” Beauregard snarled, and Caleb did not miss the marginal way in which Essek’s shoulders flinched back. His eyes, pinched at their corners with great concern, dropped to stare intently at the floor, seeming for all the world to be ashamed. 

“It might not be so bad you guys,” Jester pleaded. “We need to be here.”

For all that it pained him to admit it, and to ignore the outraged protective emotion that broiled inside of him, she was right.

Jester was always right. 

“Do I get to pick who it is?” Jester asked, after a moment in which she steadfastly refused to meet any eye but the certain gaze of the Queen.

“The candidate has already been selected,” replied the Bright Queen in her level tone. “I believe that you will find him favourable.”

At this she extended one of her pale hands outwards, gesturing down to her left. Caleb followed the curve of her palm, his eyes tracking over the scars that marred her skin and the empty air until his gaze came to be fixed on-

“Essek?!” Jester beamed, even as the rest of their group uttered a far more affronted and far more dangerous mantra of the same name.

Caleb felt his heart stutter where it had been wallowing in his chest, the culmination of anxiety and the fizzling burn of danger that simmered in the air all bundling into a dreadful mixture of wrongness in his gut. His mind felt as if it were smeared in molasses, slow to process the rapidly advancing conversation even as control toppled out from under him. He had been prepared to be faced with an execution. He had not readied himself for Jester and Essek to be betrothed. 

_ Gods _ , he thought bitterly, even as his gut lurched with sickness. 

Before that terrible emotion could sink its clutches even further into him, a blur of motion in his peripheral pulled him back into focus. Beauregard had whirled pointedly around to face Essek, her expression unreadable and a hardy determination to her eye that Caleb had only ever caught scant glimpses of in the midst of battle. It was enough to cause his heart to rear back into his throat, even as terror flared in his blood.

“Did you know about this?” Beauregard snarled, ripping her hand away from where Caleb had been holding her. She began to close the distance between herself and the Shadowhand.

Caleb did not hesitate to stumble after her advance, whirling around to face Beauregard even as he slotted himself between her warpath and where Essek seemed intent to meet her gaze and hold his ground. 

“Beauregard,” Caleb pleaded. “ _ Halt _ .”

She dismissed him easily, pressing forward until her front was pressed against Caleb’s outstretched palms, his fingers digging into the firm flesh of her biceps. A terrible anger had twisted her face into something sour, and she stared beyond Caleb’s shoulder to meet Essek’s gaze. 

Caleb could not turn to read whatever expression was painted across Essek’s expression, but to be faced with such a look from Beauregard he imagined it was not terribly enthusiastic.

He could feel the heat of Essek’s body pressed up against him from where he had thrown himself between the pair, the impression of a firm chest digging into his back, the ornate buckles and clasps of his attire biting through Caleb’s outer robe.

Caleb stumbled as Beauregard pressed to advance again, and a hand came to settle lowly on his hip to keep him balanced. He did not have to glance downward to know it was not Beauregard. Her own hands were too busy gesticulating wildly as she rounded on Essek with her unbridled fury. 

“If this was some sick fucking idea of yours I want you to know that no amount of magical bullshit will get you out of this room alive,” Beauregard hissed, and Caleb felt Essek’s hand twitch where it rested on his side. “And then we’ll find whichever Beacon your soul ends up in and throw that shit into the Astral Sea.”

In his peripheral Caleb watched as the armoured guards perked in interest, their gauntleted hands reaching for the hilts of blades and fingers splaying to begin drawing out runic formations. 

“I did not choose this,” Essek said simply. 

“Beauregard,  _ Bitte, _ ” Caleb insisted, then he turned his head to cast his voice up towards where the Bright Queen was observing the exchange. “Would you be so kind as to grant us a minute to discuss it in private? I think there are details that could be hashed out that we should not waste your precious time with.”

“I think that would be wise,” she replied bluntly. 

Caleb withdrew from Essek’s warmth hurriedly, shuddering as his body tumbled through an array of conflicting emotions; fear came out on top, fear  _ always _ trumped the lot of them. He occupied himself instead with replacing his ironlike grip on Beauregard’s forearm and tugging her insistently along after him as he made for the door that they had entered from. He placed enough faith in the rest of the Nein to make a swift exit after them, and he was relieved to hear the clatter of their boots as they all took their leave. 

For a brief moment the pristine whiteness of the hallway blinded him into a daze, his thoughts spiralled in a million directions before he decided to escort their little band towards the mouth of the teleportation chamber, where he knew a small alcove that would not comfortably fit them all would place them far enough away from prying ears. 

“You can’t be serious about this,” Nott said, her voice distorted with her concern. 

As they all stooped in the bend in the corridor, Caleb finally considered it appropriate to release Beauregard’s arm, his fingers aching from the intensity of his grip. 

Jester fell into the centre of their exchange, bracketed in on all sides by the concerned faces of her friends. Yasha placed a large hand on the woman’s shoulder, the thick scarred digits only serving to make Jester seem all the more insurmountably small. 

“Guys,” Jester breathed, voice measured and hesitant. Despite her impulsive nature, she seemed to be considering it greatly. “It’s only Essek. It really couldn’t be so bad.”

“Besides,” she continued, turning her bright gaze to fix on Beauregard with a desperate plea swimming in the blue of her eye. “Don’t you think it’s sort of romantic? I mean, he's a friend, and he's really nice! Plus he is sort of handsome, anyway. When I was little I read an entire book about someone having to marry their friend, and they fell in love  _ after _ .”

“Jester,” Caleb sputtered, head pulsing with an oncoming headache. “This is not a book, you understand that, right? This is a very real thing that you are committing yourself to.”

“We need to be here,” Jester replied, folding her arms bodily across her chest. “There is a war that at this point, I think only we have the chance to mediate in, and this is the closest we’ve come to finding some sort of solution for Nott. I'm not doing this to be selfish. I'm doing this because one of us has to and I think that it should be me.” 

“I trust him,” she continued, scarcely taking a moment to breathe. “Essek, I trust that he won’t hurt any of us. If this is the best way forward then maybe he’s right. At least it’s not some old creep,  _ that _ would suck.”

She feigned a shudder and chuckled, and only Beauregard had the heart to pretend to smile in return. 

“We don’t even know what a marriage would entail,” Caleb murmured, snatches of terrible possibilities flashing through his mind like a kaleidoscope of horrors. 

“It’s only a betrothal,” Jester reassured. “We could like, break up. Mamma has been betrothed before a few times.”

“ _ Yeaah _ ,” Fjord breathed, rasping a large hand against the stubble that clung to his jaw. “I don’t know if they’ll be that lenient here, Jess.”

“They can’t force an unhappy couple to stay together,” Nott protested. “That’s not fair.”

“These things usually are not,” Yasha said, her voice a whisper amongst their clamour. Her large hand twitched minutely where it was resting on Jester's shoulder. 

“You guys aren't even listening. It’s my decision,” Jester said, voice wavering around the potential of dampness that caused Caleb’s heart to crack.

“We are not saying these things to be cruel,” Caleb said.

Beauregard started at his side and reached out to Jester with open arms, an invitation that Jester folded into immediately. The shorter girl tucked the crown of her head under Beauregard’s chin as she submerged her face in the folds of the woman’s robes. The two laughed, awkwardly at first and then with more sincerity when Beauregard began to pat her back too heavily with a resounding  _ thump-thump-thump. _

“We just don’t want something horrible to happen to you Jessie,” Beauregard murmured, her breath disturbing the curls of Jester’s hair. 

“I can take care of myself Beau,” Jester huffed, cheeks puffing out with a sigh. 

Caleb raised a hand to worry at his lip, digging his nails against the sensitive skin enough to burn. Distantly, his fingertips tasted of ink and ash.

“My apologies, am I interrupting?” 

A collective flinch disturbed the group. Caleb pinched hard enough to draw up a well of blood, even as his eyes darted up to find Yasha whirling around with one hand resting on the manicured pommel of her sword. 

“Just a little,” Beauregard said, arms tightening protectively around Jester’s shoulders, cradling the woman to her chest. 

“You’re not,” Fjord said, after a terse silence swelled between them, occupied only by too many pairs of eyes that were unwilling to meet each other. “We should probably all have a big conversation about this.”

“It was not my idea,” Essek began, voice pinched and measured. He kept his gaze downcast, an unnatural look of apprehension weighing down his shoulders. “I was only informed this morning myself, or I would have warned you. As it turns out, I have spent much of the past few hours panicking.”

He was interrupted by Jester’s snorting laugh, perhaps a little too wet at the edges, frayed out and hurt. She did not raise her head from where it was burrowed, and Essek set his mouth into a grim line. 

“Can we break up, after we’re done?” Jester asked hesitantly. 

“After you are done with what, if I may ask?” Essek pressed, the uncomfortable tension slipping from his eyes as they rounded with genuine concern. 

Jester pulled back from Beauregard’s embrace then, and the Nein all politely ignored the dewy sheen that coated her eyes. She faced Essek very seriously, chin jutted out with a certain defiance that was reserved for petty disputes and was often replaced with a feral glower in the midst of battles. 

“After we find another way to prove our worth,” she elaborated. “I like you Essek but I can’t marry you for  _ real _ .”

Any trepidation melted from Essek’s features, the beginning of a smile softening the edges of his mouth.

“Of course,” he said. “I have a few leads on where to start, nothing concrete mind you. There is nothing so far that I could guarantee would guide you to a treasure worthy of kinship, but I will keep looking.”

“Alright then,” Jester sighed, pitching her voice into the too-forced side of jovial. “Let’s get married.”

\---

Somehow the Bright Queen accepted their arrangement, rather than having them all executed on the spot. 

It was agreed that, effective immediately, Essek Thelyss of Den Thelyss and Jester Lavorre of Nicodranas were to be wed.

There was no ornate flourish to it, or any modicum of formality to the announcement. The Bright Queen has simply nodded her assent as the details were relayed by one of the court scribes, and at the end she had leaned over from her throne to sign a slip of parchment when it was presented to her. 

The Mighty Nein were dismissed from the throne room with a gracious smile that did not reach the eyes of the Bright Queen. Essek escorted them to the entrance hall. The open maw of the doorway and the domed ceilings appeared so suddenly after being confined to such a small room that it felt very much like the Lucid Bastion itself was taking a forceful inhalation after a suspenseful silence. 

Caleb watched as his companions fell out onto the cobbled streets of the city, the moonlight splaying over their features and casting them in a drape of shadow. 

“Might I have a word?” Caleb asked, catching Essek as he turned to retreat back into the halls of the Bastion. 

“Quickly, if you please.” As Caleb regarded him, he noticed the tension that drew itself across Essek’s face, the fine lines pinching in at the corner of his downcast eyes. 

“We know nothing of courtships in the Dynasty, let alone ones with an official member of the government,” Caleb pressed. “Surely our knowledge of these things would be beneficial to not only us but also to you, what would happen if we were to disgrace you, or Den Thelyss?”

“After the position you have found yourselves in and you still concern yourself with me?” Essek breathed, raising his bright eyes to latch onto Caleb with such a look of vulnerability that he felt as if he had been struck.

“You are our friend-” the word was unfamiliar on Caleb’s tongue, distorted with misuse “-and the Mighty Nein looks out of one another.”

“I will pull together some resources, and ask around I suppose. I am not exactly well versed in the etiquette of it all. I have never been betrothed before,” Essek said, his tone becoming a pained wheeze. 

“We will end this, as soon as we are able to,” Caleb reassured, feeling his heart twist with some painful sympathy as Essek withdrew into himself. 

“Anyway,” Essek breathed, a self depreciating little smile beginning to pull his mouth upwards. “I should, you know, return to my work.”

“Busy?” Caleb asked, if only to watch as Essek ran the flat of his hand over his forehead in an exaggerated motion that seemed to slough off an unbelievable amount of tension. 

“You have no idea,” he said. 

“Then we shall leave you be,” Caleb relented, holding up his hands amicably before him. "Mister Lavorre," he added, if only to savour the way Essek flinched at the title, eyes widening into discs. 

He turned then, taking his leave from the building with his shoulders pulled high with some nameless tension and worrying his tongue against the stinging cut on his lip. 

As far as some of the situations the Nein had found themselves in, he supposed a ploy of political intrigue and an effort to ingratiate themselves into a polite society was something that was very much up his alley. It was what Trent had groomed him for, when his lessons did not consist of torture and bloodsport. He just wished that Jester had not thrown herself so willingly upon the proverbial sword before Caleb had been allowed a moment to suss out just how sharp that blade truly was. 

_ Please let it be blunt _ , he hoped with a frantic desperation as they walked home. He repeated it like the solemn mantra of a prayer, a childish warble of  _ please, please, please _ until the word lost all meaning in his mind. 

And as the evening drew into a deeper darkness, he realised that he did not know for who he was pleading the most for.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for your comments and kudos - they really help motivate me <3 I love hearing your thoughts.
> 
> also, this chapter is the high-fantasy equivalent of your mam making you take your younger sibling along when you go to hang out with your mates

Sleep did not find him well on that night. 

Caleb spent a great majority of the twilight hours staring up at the interlocking wooden slats that melded into his ceiling, squinting at the cracks as if his restless mind would mend the imperfections. 

Jester probably could, he thought a little bitterly. 

Jester was always the one to mend things, the woman would force her way into any broken situation with such an air of profound confidence that any broken thing would mend under her fingers, knitting together obediently for her words. She kept their ships together under the brunt of a tumultuous ocean, she kept their group together after the glue that was Mollymauk left them. She had gradually pulled Caleb out of his shell with soft words and those kind touches until even he had to confess that the ruptured heart inside him felt a little more whole when he looked at the Nein.

Even now, it seemed, she was keeping them together in Rosohna by applying herself to such a terrible situation. 

Caleb frowned up at the ceiling until morning found them, his eyes strained and reddened when he caught a fleeting glance of himself in the looking glass on his way out of his room. The bruises under his eyes had adopted a purple tint, and he elected to ignore them as he shrugged on his velvet coat and began to trudge to the kitchens.

Inexplicably, the kitchens had become the heart of their home. All houses, he knew, were like a creature, with large window eyes that were lashed with thick curtains and the lifeblood of people flushing through the corridors like so many arteries. But the kitchen was where they always found one another, and so that was the beating heart of it all. 

Caduceus was already lost in his work when Caleb stepped into the room. A teapot wailed, the sound climbing up towards a crescendo as it boiled over an open fire. The man was a little frantic, soft eyes partially glazed with some unknown thought even as his dopey ears tilted down to brush at his shoulders. 

“Are you well?” Caleb asked, pulling out a chair at the large table, wincing as the wooden legs seemed to squeal over the floor. 

“Oh-” Caduceus jerked his gaze up, and with the movement his ears swivelled in some apt attention. A soft, apologetic smile touched the corners of his mouth. “I, uh well, you know, a lot to think about, lately.”

“There is,” Caleb agreed, easily. 

He drummed his fingers over the polished veneer of the table, a heavy carved thing that had likely reared a family or two in its time. It seemed almost antique in its age, with a few scuffs on the heavy legs and chipped polish where he could envision cutlery being thrown down. But the Drow were ancient themselves, weren’t they? A generation to Caleb must seem so dreadfully brief to them.

“I uh-” Caduceus stammered after a moment, in which his large eyes skittered from Caleb to the heavy cast-iron oven, to the shrieking kettle - “do you want breakfast? I’m baking bread off now but I can do you something else if you want-”

He was  _ worried,  _ Caleb noted with a start. Caduceus burrowed himself into his nurturing and coddling just as readily as Caleb threw himself into the maw of his books when something was troubling his mind. He was so scared of losing someone that he was latching onto the people he did have with an iron grip. 

“She will be okay,” Caleb said, very softly, and sounded decidedly unsure of himself. “We’re not going to let anything happen to anyone here.”

“I know,” Caduceus sighed. He reached out towards one of the marbled countertops and plucked up a finely embroidered tea towel, embellished with little flowers and a few buzzing bees. He wrapped it around his hand before reaching out to pluck up the iron handle of the teapot, moving it to pour the steaming liquid into a few of the cups he had lined up along the counter. 

“I just,” he spoke as he moved, using a teaspoon that appeared incredibly dainty in his large hand to add some honey to a few of the cups. “It’s not just Jester I’m worried about. Don’t get me wrong, I’m worried the  _ most _ about her, but Essek has been nothing but kind to us, and he didn’t seem too pleased with the arrangement either.”   
  
“Ja,” Caleb winced as his voice croaked on the word. “It is very unfortunate, I would like to trust him, but-”   
  
“But he’s betrayed us before?”    
  
The voice was like the clatter of an axe splitting wood, shattering the subdued silence that Caleb and Caduceus had been all but whispering into, tones gentled by morning exhaustion. Caleb turned in his seat to find Nott in the doorway, hair tangled and sticking out in dark fly-aways in a resemblance of what had once been a braid. Caleb used to tie that braid for her, on those dark nights when his whole world was only her.    
  
“Well it wasn’t exactly  _ us _ ,” Caduceus reasoned, reaching for the kettle to pour out a third cup.    
  
“Lying by omission is still betrayal,” Nott pressed, padding into the room and clambering up into the seat closest to Caleb. One of her small hands reached out to squeeze his wrist fondly, the slender digits circling the pale scarred slip of his wrist where it peaked out from his sleeve. Her maw twisted down into the disappointed frown universal to all mothers, the one softened by a touch of affection, as she looked at the injuries. 

Caleb gently pulled his wrist from her grasp, turning his hand to squeeze her palm for a moment.    
  
“Look, what do we actually know about this guy? What do we actually know that we can trust? I want to believe you but we can’t go off of nothing,” Nott reasoned, making a soft noise in her throat when Caduceus passed her a cup of gently steaming tea.    
  
Caleb accepted his own cup eagerly, taking a sip far too early to avoid having to join the conversation. Behind the cruel burn of too-hot water scalding his tongue, he picked up faint hints of apple and cinnamon. It was his Nicodranas blend, then. 

“I know about as much about him as I did about you all, when you first climbed the fence into my home, and I trusted you all the same,” Caduceus elected to stay standing, leaning his hip against the counter as he turned to look at them both. “He was lonely, and we know how hard it can be for lonely people to learn to trust, especially if something has hurt them before.”

Two sets of eyes rounded onto Caleb with an unsubtle consideration, and he lowered his gaze to stare at the flecks of tea that whirled in his cup. 

“I’m not saying that I’m right, but what sort of friends would we be if we didn’t hear him out?” 

Nott sighed heavily, raising a hand to press to her forehead, pinching the bridge of her nose with two pointed talons. 

“I thought that being the youngest was supposed to make you less trusting,” Nott breathed after a moment, narrowing her yellow gaze onto Caduceus with faux-venom. “It’s impressive that you’ve survived this long.”  
  
Caduceus’ face split into a broad grin, teeth flashing with a laugh that brought a brightness to his eye. It was the first time that Caleb had seen him smile that morning.  
  
Caleb opened his mouth to speak, tongue still numb on the tip by where he had burned himself, but a thundering collection of noises above cut him off abruptly. He raised his gaze to the domed ceiling, watching with some tension to his shoulder as their hanging candelabra began to sway dangerously under the force from above. 

His fingers twitched idly into the starting position for  _ featherfall _ , and in his peripheral he watched Nott’s hand mimic his own. A warm plume of pride swelled in his chest at the sight, and if he had a hand free he would reach out to clasp the woman’s shoulder.    
  
Soon enough the resounding noise travelled away from them, and was replaced instead by a deafening descent down the stairs. Caleb curled his hand into a fist as he watched the candles above him lurch and rock back into a slowing sway. 

“Guys!” Jester called.

Her voice reached the room before her body did, entering as a flurry of blue and pink as she stumbled into the kitchen. Her rose pink nightgown twirling with a flourish as she pulled to a stop, her feet were capped with matching slippers. “Guess what!”

Her chirruping voice was decidedly more happy than Caleb had been bracing himself for, and she seemed to be grinning with more eager joy than the Jester in his mind had possessed, the one that had kept him awake all night with tears and anxiety. Low in his gut the sick feeling that he just now noticed lessened a little. 

“Ooh, guessing.” Caduceus smiled. “Do we get a clue?”

Jester’s bright eyes darted from Caduceus then to Nott before finally settling on Caleb. Her balled fists came to wrest on her hips as she heaved a heavily exasperated sigh. 

“You guys are  _ so _ boring,” Jester bemoaned, shaking her head idly before pressing forward. “I spoke to Essek! I sent him some messages before bed and one this morning and he said he would totally come over for dinner tonight so we can talk about all the details. He was gonna’ bring some of the leads he has, too.”   


Caleb caught the way Nott’s shoulders jumped with tension underneath her cloak, he watched as her eyes narrowed into slats. 

“Thank you for the forewarning,” Caleb said, when he noticed that no one else seemed to know what to say, and that the silence was becoming incredibly awkward. 

Jester turned to him with a gentle smile, her blue hair still mussed with sleep. Where the length of her neck peaked out from her low cut tunic Caleb saw that her throat was lined with small, rodent-claw-like scratches. 

“I guess I should plan an actual dinner, then,” Caduceus mused. “Make a nice evening of it all.”

“I’m going to go tell Beau,” Jester replied distractedly, already turning on the point of one padded slipper to run out of the room. 

Neither Caduceus nor Jester seemed to have noticed the pinched and deeply concerned look that Nott and Caleb shared over their tea. 

\---

The rest of the morning passed in a whirlwind of activity.    
  
Beauregard and Fjord received the news of Essek joining them for the evening about as well as could have been expected, being that it was only the door being locked that kept them from marching to the other man’s house and breaking his jaw.    
  
Caduceus decided that magically conjured food wouldn’t be appropriate for the evening, so he decided to visit whatever markets they could stumble across out in the city. Jester had insisted on heading out with him, which had beckoned Beauregard to her side like some guard dog that appeared more like a yapping terrier; all bark and a bite that would sting rather than tear. 

Caleb found himself wandering the home, his hands knitting together nervously as he paced, his head pounding with a looming headache as he struggled not to think. 

His feet, traitorous and as terrible as they were, carried him to the parlour where Caleb and Essek took their lessons. It was dim in the waning candlelight, the flames leaping into a blaze as he stepped into the room. Heavy bookshelves lined the walls, a collection of titles he vowed that he would pick through eventually but yet never quite found the time for. There was always something more important going on when they visited Rosohna, and it would have been nice to have a break. 

He wandered up to one of those bookshelves now, the wooden floor cushioned by a large woven rug in the centre of the room. A small glass table was nestled between two plush settees, and a collection of papers were scattered there, snatches of doodles and shopping lists. A coffee stain marred a few of them. They had had a flower vase once, a large golden thing that Yasha had kept stocked with various arrangements. It had lasted all of three weeks before it was kicked over during a drunken attempt at ballroom lessons, and nobody had bothered to replace it since. 

He danced his fingers over the leather spines of the books as he browsed, a collection of titles both familiar and foreign and all decidedly boring. Whenever he found a spark of something intriguing his mind would flare with worry and he would look to the next shelf again.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” 

Caleb turned to find Fjord lingering in the entranceway, hand resting on the old wooden frame.    
  
It took some effort but Caleb managed to meet the man’s eye and force a subdued sort of smile. It likely appeared as more of a grimace, but Fjord offered a thin-lipped smile in return, so he supposed they both did well enough.   
  
Fjord stepped into the room hesitantly, casting an eye at the old bookshelves as if he had never truly considered them before that moment. Gods, he probably hadn’t. Part of Caleb wished that they had tried to fulfil Fjord’s little fantasy when they first met, just to see how the man would have fared in the Soltryce Academy. Very poorly, probably, what with Uk’otoa having had his clutches buried so deep that the man coughed up half the ocean. 

“We could always leave,” Fjord said after a nervous pause, in which his arms raised to cross tightly over his broad chest. “You could get us all to the Coast in, what?”   
  
“Ten minutes,” Caleb supplied.

“ _ Ten minutes _ .” Fjord breathed, as if he didn’t already know. His eyes were creased with some unsurmountable tension, the cut of his jaw lined with a gradual stubble that he was usually so meticulous about shaving. 

“But what do we do when we get there? Carry on picking up contracts and ignoring the war around us? Ignore it knowing that we could have had a hand in its end?” Caleb asked, closing the distance between them so that he had to tilt his head up to see Fjord’s face. “Drag Nott around with us knowing that we ran from the only place I’ve found that feels like it has a solution?” 

Fjord blinked at him, face softening into an expression that seemed to almost be pity. 

“Fuck the war.” Caleb bit out, ignoring how Fjord flinched as if the words struck him. “I don’t care about the nameless dead, we didn’t personally send them out there to die. But we stay until Nott is cured, that is the promise that I made and one that I intend to keep.”   
  
“I think we might be in over our heads with this,” Fjord pressed. “And I don’t want to put Jester in any danger.”   
  
“She is in danger every day she spends with us. The safest thing we could ever do for her would be to lock her back up at home with her mother. But that would be cruel, and she has had enough of  _ that _ - _ that- _ misguided love.”

Caleb found himself meeting Fjord’s gaze as he finished speaking, feeling a flare of nervous heat touch his cheeks as the man’s eyes roamed over his face with a guarded look barring off any tells of his thoughts. 

“She’s stronger than we think,” Fjord said, after a moment. He uncrossed his arms, sighing heavily as he did. 

“She is,” Caleb murmured. “And we will still watch out for her, we can’t let anything go too far. We can press forward a bit more, see where it gets us, and if we need to intervene then we will, regardless of how it has to be done.”

“Even if Essek tries to stop us?” Fjord asked, expression frighteningly blank as he spoke. 

Fjord extended one of his large hands between them, the digits of his knuckles scarred and worn, clearly a sailor’s hands. His palm turned upwards, and Caleb roved his eye over the thread of pale green scarring there, a sister wound twinging with phantom sympathy on his own hand. 

“I-” Caleb stammered, wetting his dry lips with his tongue. “I think if Essek wanted us stopped, there would be little I could do.” Dully, in the back of his mind, the brutal carnage of twisting metal crushing bone and flesh played out like a sickening mantra. “I think confrontation should be plan F, if it is even considered at all.”   
  
“What if you don’t fight him,” Fjord pressed. “He listens to you, and you’re closer to him than the rest of us are by a long shot. He talks to Jester a lot but he’s always asking after  _ you _ . Use that to your advantage, isn’t that what they taught you when you were- well, you know.”

“I-” Caleb started, a quaint numbness beginning to tingle across his fingertips. Nerves, he realised belatedly. He felt quite suddenly as if his lungs could not quite pull in enough breathable air, always on the uncomfortable side of not enough.    
  
“Worst comes to worst, you’ll have the element of surprise if it does come down to fight, if he thinks you’re on his side,” Fjord shrugged, and Caleb noticed with a panicked eye that the hand was still extended to him.

Betrayal felt bitter to him, a word that was interwoven so neatly with the tapestry of his past. If Caleb Widogast became a betrayer, and a liar and a kin slayer, was he truly so different to Bren? Had he even changed at all over the years, or was it just a lie to comfort himself like some sad child? And if he trusted both of these men, if he saw the Nein as a family and saw Essek as a ghost of himself desperate for redemption, how could he ever take a side? The only outcome would be betrayal; it was inevitable. 

“Alright,” Caleb breathed. 

He offered out his own hand, clutching at Fjord’s warm grasp with his own. They squeezed, cut palm to cut palm. Fjord’s fingers utterly dwarfed his own, thicker digits almost covering the entirety of his hand in the hold before they drew apart.    
  
Fjord moved as if he wanted to reach out again, a hand floundering uselessly in their air beside Caleb’s shoulder before the man made an awkward, throaty chuckle and retracted the arm to instead scratch the back of his head.    
  
“Right, well, I’m going to go see what Nott’s up to,” Fjord gestured to the entranceway once again, voice laced with an abashed sort of awkwardness. Distantly, Caleb was aware of a darkening hue touching his cheeks. “You know, see if she hasn’t burned the house down or flooded the hot tub.”   
  
“She’s older than you, you know,” Caleb called as the man strode out of the room, if only to worsen his embarrassment. 

Caleb did not watch his form retreat, instead staring at the scar that bisected his own palm with a morbid fascination. 

\---

It was harder to keep track of the days in the city, with the hours blending seemingly into an endless veil of darkness. They kept their time only by the grace of Caleb’s own internal body clock, and the fact that they gradually became more tired as the day pressed on into an evening. 

Caduceus had spent a great majority of the day darting about in the kitchen, keeping track of more pots than Caleb could even begin to fathom. Around two hours after he came home the house began to smell of fragrant spices and roasting  _ something _ that made Caleb’s stomach twist in anticipation. Jester helped him for the most part, insisting that she had to go and get dressed in something nice before Essek arrived, since it was important for her to make an impression now. Beauregard had made a habit of following her around like a shadow and rolling her eyes every time she said something hopelessly romantic. 

Yasha had been quiet, lurking in the parlour with a thunderous expression. Only Nott had approached her throughout the day, and Caleb idly hoped that not all of the Nein had the same thought process as Fjord, or Essek would be torn limb from limb before he even made it through the front door. 

Caleb had joined Yasha eventually, pulling a book from the shelves at random and gently brushing the dusty sheen off of the cover without a glance. Nott curled up beside him after a short while, nursing her crossbow in her lap as she fiddled with the mechanisms. The woman was a reassuring weight at his side, keeping his thoughts reined enough that he could at least focus on the first few chapters with relative ease.    
  
If the way that she idly pressed into his arm every so often was any indication, he felt that she was enjoying the company too.

The candles lighting the room were burned down to about half way when there was a knock at the door. It was punctual and brief and Caleb hated himself for knowing that it sounded like Essek’s. 

“I’ll get it!” Jester cried, a blur of motion as she sprinted passed where the parlour opened onto the hallway. Her feet thundered to a stop and then approached once more, and she stuck her head into the room with a practiced flourish not unlike her mother. “How do I look?”   
  
_ Pretty, _ Caleb thought, shamelessly. Her hair was tugged back into a high bun, a few stray locks escaping to frame her face. She was wearing one of her white dresses, without the mud-soaked and blood-splattered over cloak that she usually preferred. A smudge of an orange sauce streaked down one of the sleeves, and her cheek seemed to be dusted with flour.    
  
“Very beautiful,” Yasha said.    
  
“Aww, Yasha,” Jester sighed, cupping her own cheeks in her hand as if to force her smile down. “Thank you, you’re beautiful too.”   
  
“Jester,” Fjord said, from where he was seated awkwardly beside Yasha. “The door.”

“Oh!” She squeaked. “Right!”

Then she was off again, only the curl of her tail seeming to wave as she scampered off.    
  
Caleb shared an awkward look with the rest of the Nein over the top of his book, a terse silence seeming to draw all of the air out of the room. He could hear his own heart pounding an unpleasant mantra in his ears, and even breathing seemed so deafeningly loud. To his side Nott had fallen into an unnatural stillness. Even her arm, where it was pressed into him, felt as if it were scarcely there. 

There was a general commotion in the direction of the door, mostly the rising crescendo of Jester’s voice as she welcomed Essek inside. The bell that they had affixed over the door jingled pleasantly as it was closed again. 

As a collection of footsteps approached the room Caleb ducked his head back down to at least pretend he wasn’t eagerly waiting for their guest to step inside. He started at the ink on the page, the words blurring into meaningless mess before his eyes as he focused on the footsteps approaching -  _ too many, more than two people - _

“Guys!” Jester called, appearing first in the doorway. The flour from her cheek had been wiped away, and her grin was so wide Caleb thought that it must have hurt. 

Essek appeared behind her, shoulder pulled awkwardly up towards his ears even as he raised a hand to wave it tensely at them all. His hair had been slicked back neatly, and his black shirt fit his frame well, the undone top button revealing the column of his throat.    
  
Caleb probably would have stared for a moment, had a third figure not appeared in the hallway.    
  
The second man was taller, easily a head or so over Essek. He was a Drow, with a youthful face that was only distorted by a large scar that cut across the right of his jaw and ended at a dangerous point just under his eye.  _ That looks like a close call _ , Caleb winced, even as he took in the man’s familiar blue eyes. Thick strands of white hair were pulled up into a high ponytail, threaded with a few small braids that were capped with silver beads. 

Caleb’s immediate thought was that they were under some new threat of danger, and his fingers twitched towards his satchel even as Nott discretely picked up her crossbow from where it had been resting in her lap.    
  
Caleb was still watching the new man even when Essek raised a hand to gesture loosely towards the stranger. 

“Please, I would like for you all to meet my brother.” Essek sounded dreadfully disdained by the announcement, enough so that Caleb’s thoughts of threat gradually slipped away. 

“I’m Verin,” the brother - Verin - supplied with an easy smile, an expression so unfamiliar on a face so vaguely similar to Essek’s own was jarring to witness. “I appreciate being invited into your home.”

“Well,” Beauregard started, roving her gaze from the top of Verin’s head to the toe of his boot. She leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest as she sized him up, radiating a profound sort of energy that Caleb could only rationally describe as ‘too cool for you new guy, don’t even try to approach me’. “I didn’t know that you were a little brother Essek, you always gave me neglected single child vibes. No offence.”

Verin snorted, seemingly entirely unaffected by the harsh examination. One of his hands, large and peculiarly scarred, raised to rub at the back of his neck. It was only with the exaggerated movement that Caleb noticed he wore leather, a treated black armour that seemed to only deepen into a nebulous blur in the candlelight. 

“I’m the youngest actually, not that you’d ever be able to tell,” Verin winked then, a flash of his eye towards Beauregard that served only to make the woman’s scowl deepen. “I got the height  _ and _ the looks after all.”

Caleb glanced away just fast enough to find that Essek was sighing deeply, pinching his eyes closed with a pained look. It would have been endearing, were the circumstances more fortunate. As it was, the delighted way his stomach twisted at the sight only made Caleb scowl, and squeeze his own forearms in some silent beratement of his own body. 

“Did I just hear the door?” 

Caduceus ducked into the room with a confused scrunch to his brow, hair thickly braided into a topknot to keep out his way. The rest of the flour that escaped Jester seemed to be matted into the fur of his cheek, marbling his complexion. 

“Oh, two guests, hello,” Caduceus grinned, extending his hand to Verin who was staring back with his mouth rounded into a surprised smile. “It’s a pleasure to have you, I’m Caduceus Clay.”

Verin accepted Caduceus’ hand easily, gawping at where his own large hand was utterly swamped in the other man’s grasp. When he pulled back his face was softened with a grin. 

“Verin,” he said, turning that smile onto Essek and trying to meet his eyes as if inviting some silent conversation. 

Essek ignored him and pressed into the room, only stopping when his boots met the lip of the rug. 

“My apologies about the unannounced guest, it is custom for both parties in a betrothal to be chaperoned by members of their respective Dens until the marriage,” Essek shrugged stiffly, “and Verin insisted that it should be him.”

“I don’t know if we have that many plates,” Caduceus lamented. “But we’re happy to have you anyway.”

“Verin, I have  _ so _ much to ask you about Essek! He never tells us anything about himself ever.” Jester looped her arm through Verin’s, grinning up at him even as the man’s eyes widened with surprise. Then, without allowing him a moment to refuse, she tugged him out of the room and towards the kitchens, accented only by the jingle of the jewellery that embellished her horns. 

Caleb stood only when the rest of the Nein turned to follow. Motivated either by their unwillingness to leave Jester alone with the armoured stranger, or by genuine hunger, they gradually began to filter out towards the kitchens. 

Essek avoided his eye as he passed, and Caleb pointedly ignored the way his chest ached at the dismissal. 

They had taken enough meals at the Xhorhaus that they all had preferred seating arrangements; Fjord tended to keep Nott to his left, where he did not have to directly watch her dismember her food; Jester preferred to sit opposite Beauregard so they could play footsie when they thought no one else would notice; Yasha could not sit with her back to the door, and Caleb and Nott would not sit with another between them. It did not leave many options, when there were so many specifics, and so it was easy enough for them to all fall into their designated chairs as they piled into the room. Verin was tugged down into a space next to Jester, where his hunched shoulders and wary smile looked dreadfully out of place.

Only Essek hesitated as he swept into the room, guarded eyes scanning the scene for a moment as he entered. That brief pause was dismissed just as quickly as it had overtaken him, and he pressed forward to take a seat between Beauregard and Fjord. 

That left Caduceus standing, the man darting between the cast-iron oven and the stovetop that housed a menagerie of pots and skillets. A rich scent of wines and earthy spices swelled in the room, a warmth that made Caleb’s stomach gripe irritably. 

_ Right _ , he thought,  _ you can’t survive on stress alone, you actually need to eat. _

“We have these,” Caduceus gestured to a uniform line of plates that sat on the counter, “but someone is going to have to make do.”

“I’ll have mine from the pan.” Yasha shrugged easily, flexing her expansive muscles, and Caleb noted how her eyes remained fixed to Essek as she moved. “I actually prefer it that way.”

With that easy affirmation Caduceus set to serving them all, a gentle smile touching his mouth with each plate he set down. Verin had the decency to smile gratefully in return, reciting some cliché compliments to the chef that had Caduceus stammering out a thanks. 

Essek, when Caleb glanced towards him from the corner of his eye, had his eyes downcast and was nipping the back of his wrist with such force that Caleb thought he was dangerously close to breaking the skin. Part of him was tempted to lean towards comfort, even if that vitriol bitterness still flared in his chest. 

Dinner was a painfully awkward affair. They ate with minimal engagement, any snippets of conversation kept exclusively between the Nein, with Verin venturing in with simple questions while Essek made disapproving noises whenever something too extreme was mentioned. The only accompanying noise was that of Yasha’s scraping the metal of her fork over the iron of a pan, a screeching wail that set Caleb’s nerves on end, pinprick hairs rising along his arms.

“So, you are the ones who found the Beacon?” Verin asked, after he had finished his food and was watching a debate between Fjord and Nott with some wry smirk. 

“Uh-huh, we recovered it from a - uhm-” Jester’s voice dropped into a murmur, ‘ _ your agent, probably; an agent who we killed, by the way’  _ was unsaid but the realisation flashed across her face all the same. “A super intricate location deep in the Empire, it was a very serious mission.”

“How did you know what to look for?” Verin pressed.

“Honestly? It just seemed pretty neat, you know? You don’t keep a lot of objects somewhere that intense and safe if it’s not valuable.” Beauregard offered, when Jester’s mouth gave way to a thoughtful frown. 

“And you knew to bring it here? You knew the power it held?” Verin, for all that he was pressing, did not seem too terribly annoyed. If anything, pure fascination had slackened his face into a youthful sort of intrigue. 

Essek, still silent, still tense, caught Caleb’s eye when he glanced over. Caleb tried not to flinch as their gazes locked, but it was impossible to say who looked away the quickest. 

“Well we uh, not  _ really _ ,” Jester said, flapping a hand dismissively. “You know, we took a while to figure it out. Sort of you know, soaked it in for a while.” 

“Yeah, like,” Beauregard continued eagerly, raising her hands to mime holding an object of some kind, before lowering her head towards it and inhaling. “Huff, huff?”

It was Essek who interrupted, purely by grace of choking on his wine. He sputtered for a moment, eyes wincing into a pained wetness even as he managed to translate a look of utter confoundment. Verin, in a striking moment of solidifying himself as the man’s brother, wore the exact same expression, down to the minor curve of one brow. 

“You engaged with the Beacon?” Essek said, still wincing. “You ‘ _ huffed _ ’ it? What would ever compel you to do such a thing? I mean, you all did this?”

The question was broad, but his eyes latched onto Caleb’s own gaze and remained fixed there. His face was slackened into some abstract confusion, but a tiny crease at the edge of his eye betrayed his humour, and Caleb damned himself for recognising that little line. It was kind of him, in a way that made a hard stone swell in Caleb’s chest, that he thought that Caleb was smart enough to have not taken part. 

“ _ Ja _ ,” Caleb nodded, simply. “It was quite good, actually.”

Beauregard broke down into uncontrolled chuckling just as Verin did, the two flooding the room with genuine laughter for the first time that evening. Fjord at least had the decency to disguise his laughter as a cough, raising a hand to press over his mouth.

“There are people in the court who consider you to be mastermind betrayers of the highest calibre and you are telling me now that your first thought upon acquiring one of the most powerful artefacts in the world was to put it in a bag and inhale it?” Essek asked, sounding exhausted. “I have half the mind to file this as evidence in your defence, for what little it’s worth.”

Jester laughed at that, a contagious bout of hysterics that gradually warmed the room more than any of the food or wine of even the flame of the hearth could have hoped to. Even Essek, although haltingly, joined in.

His face creased as he laughed, and he raised a hand to cover his smile before Caleb could suss out whether it was genuine. 

“Speaking of, actually, I spent the evening pulling together some loose ends I had lying about and I think I have something that could be considered a lead,” Essek said after a moment, before his mouth thinned into a frown. “Perhaps if you squint.”

“There were a few rumours of an artefact in the North of the Empire, a few tales passed on by scouts about the coastlines of the Frozen Depths.” Essek continued, keeping his face schooled into complete nonchalance. “I obviously can’t guarantee that there will be anything promising that way, the Bright Queen certainly does not think so or she would have sent men herself.” 

“Anything is better than the current alternative,” Jester replied, before her face creased into a wince. “No offence, of course! It’s just, you know-”

“It’s fine,” Essek soothed, raising a placating hand to silence her frantic apologies. 

A stunted sort of silence brewed between them again after that instance, the knowledge that they had all been trying to pointedly ignore the whole evening having been resurfaced. It was Jester, as it so very often was, who tried to smooth the conversation over again. She puffed her cheeks out with an exaggerated sigh, her bright eyes swinging around to narrow in on Verin.

“Have you ever been in a hot tub?” She asked, her lips growing into a mischievous smile.

“I must confess that I have not,” Verin replied. “I have not had many opportunities I’m afraid.”

Throughout the evening Caleb had felt some nameless tension grow at the base of his spine, a discomfort that was very similar to the feeling of his skin being stretched too thin. On several occasions he had been trying to think of some ridiculous excuse to escape and take a breath, and he was not the sort of man to let an opportunity pass him by. 

“I will go heat it up for you then,” Caleb said, already standing. He ignored how his eagerness caused his chair to squeal across the floor, just as he ignored the concerned look that Nott directed towards him. 

He did not wait for a response before he made for the door, head already pounding with a collection of conflicting thoughts. Something sour was twisting in his gut, a foreign emotion he was utterly unable to put a name to. The feeling had taken hold the moment Essek had arrived, and had only brewed timidly over their dinner, constricting when Essek had commented on how beautiful Jester looked. Anger, he had wanted to call it, but that would be wrong. Disgust did not quite fit the bill either, but he supposed it was a cousin of some sort. 

Before he had truly processed it he reached the hot tub, the room cast in shadow only vaguely illuminated by the bottled lights that were threaded in the ceiling rafters above. He tugged back the heavy sheet that covered the tub and set to kindling a low flame below it with a touch of his fingers. 

“I came to offer some assistance but you seem to have it under control,” a voice said behind him. 

Caleb flinched, despite his attempt to suppress it. He had been so caught up in his thoughts that he had not even heard the figure approach, or take the creaky set of stairs.  _ Gods _ , he winced,  _ get a grip. _

When he looked up from the flame he found Verin standing there, hovering at the cusp of the staircase and looking over the hot tub with a wry smile touching his mouth. 

“I’ve heard about you,” Verin said, keeping his voice low enough that Caleb had to strain to hear it over the crackle of flame as it consumed the tinder. “I’ve been back for a handful of hours but I’ve still heard rumours of you all. But  _ you _ , the human of the Empire who presented the Beacon to our Bright Queen.”

“That would be me,” Caleb said, shortly. “I would have thought that would be old news by now. Forgive me but, are there not constant tales to be told during a war?”

“Would you not already know?” Verin crossed his arms then, folding them over the barrel of his chest. Those familiar blue eyes narrowed into slits as he roved his gaze over him, Caleb feeling the burn of the assessment. 

“I take it that you believe the story about us, that we are spies for the Empire?” Caleb asked, even as a deranged panic began to flare in the back of his mind. Verin stood firmly between him and the stairs, and would his companions hear him if he screamed? Would they even make it before his throat was slit? 

“I’m undecided.” Verin shrugged easily, jostling the strands of his white hair with the  brash movement. “Essek has told me of you too, you see. A few stories that make me more inclined to believe you are lucky fools. But  _ you _ in particular caught my attention. He told me that you were interested in Dunamancy?”

“Purely academically,” Caleb bit out.

He allowed his gaze to flicker behind Verin and toward the open maw of the staircase, and in his peripheral he was almost certain he saw the man  _ smirk _ as he tracked the movement. 

“You are very much like my brother, then,” Verin replied, voice softening into a weary tone. “He has told me that he believes as such. But, just bear in mind that because you have him convinced does not mean that I will be so easily swayed. I know what you are taught in the Empire, and I know that that brand of loyalty is not so easily thrown aside.”

“I am not so sure that you do know,” Caleb replied, shortly. He could not muster the will to meet the man’s gaze, something about those eyes being so guarded and cold was jarring. Yet, he managed to press his mouth into a thin smirk of his own.

“Well, anyway,” Verin breathed, unbunching his arms and painting over his previous expression with an easy grin. “I’m sure that they are missing us at dinner, please, after you.”

He extended his arm out to gesture towards the staircase, and Caleb hesitantly accepted the gesture. He kept his head downcast as he passed by, noting how that unreadable expression remained trained on him as he brushed by the taller man. It was a difficult fit, with Verin unwilling to move and Caleb unwilling to brush him as he passed, but he managed to manoeuvre himself very awkwardly around the man. 

Caleb pressed down the stairs with no hesitation, that pleading in his mind for escape now replaced with a desperation to return to the safety of his friends in the kitchens. Even Essek, he realised, was included into that demographic now. 

After a short moment, Verin’s heavy footfalls echoed on the stairs after him, and they both made their way back to join the rest of the Nein. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> telling yourself that you'll write a fic with a plot is all fun and games until you actually have to write the plot instead of just collections of character interactions :^)

They forgot entirely about the hot tub, which happened often enough that Caleb suspected it was just part of their evening routine by now.

Conversation drew them gradually away from the topic, stumbling instead into recounting old childhood tales. Verin laughed heartily, in such a dire contrast to Essek’s own subdued little chuckles. His voice was so gentled that it made it hard for Caleb to believe that he had truly been terrified of the man not an hour prior. 

It was as if some switch had been flipped inside of him, transforming him once more from the Taskhand of the Dynasty and back into just Essek's little brother. 

“I have a scouting party heading towards the Frozen Depths, if you would all like an escort for the first part of your journey,” Verin supplied, once their plates had been pushed aside and they instead nursed mugs of ales and wines and loose-leaf teas. “I will not dally for long, but I can at least try to point you all in the right direction.”

“And you would be willing to help?” Fjord asked, genuine surprise softening his tone. “Knowing that if we succeed it would mean that the engagement would be called off?”

“Have you ever seen a Dynasty Wedding?” Verin replied, face pinched with some solemn dread. A shudder wracked his body before he continued. “They’re some of the most stressful events a person can experience. I prefer _war,_ the Gods know that it is easier. I'd rather attend your funeral, Essek.” 

“That goes without saying, really.” Essek huffed, taking a long draught of his wine. 

To his right Verin floundered, mouth opening into a grin even as he shook his head seriously. 

“Don’t talk like that! Or your friends will actually think that I despise you.” Verin pleaded. 

“Business acquaintances,” Beauregard whispered, without tact.

Essek’s head snapped up at the murmured words, drawing his brows together with a crease of worry. His bright eyes quickly scanned the faces of the Nein before settling back on Beauregard with a genuine air of concern. 

“Are we just that?”

“Beau!” Jester hissed. “Of course you’re our friend, Essek! I wouldn’t have agreed to marry you otherwise.”

The way her tone hitched towards the end caused Caleb to smirk, the implied resonance of a ‘ _duh’_ fully unspoken, but woven into words all the same. Even with the rest of the Nein nursing such animosity, even with the predicament that she now faced, Jester did not consider him less of a friend. 

“I mean, I’ve slept with people and totally thought I would’ve married them, y’know? But then you wake up in the morning and it turns out they’re a total jerk and I can't stand to look at them.” Beauregard replied nonchalantly. 

"That sounds like a personal problem," Caduceus interjected very gently. His words were very easily drowned out by Jester beside him, the woman surging up with a hint of colour touching her cheeks. 

“Beau!” Jester whined. “I haven’t even slept with Essek yet,” she said at the exact same moment Verin inhaled his drink and broke down into a sputtering wheeze. 

“ _Anyway,_ ” Fjord spluttered, his bright eyes vehemently refusing to meet the gaze of anyone at the table. “I think that we would all appreciate that, and if we’re under as much suspect as it seems, it would be handy having an official escort.”

It took a genuine moment of consideration to recall the topic of discussion; escorts through the wilderness. _Right._ Caleb watched as Verin processed the statement, taking a moment to compose himself and allowing his mouth to thin into a tactful smile that did not soften his eyes. 

“Keeping tabs would be very helpful, I agree.”

 _Bastard_ , Caleb thought, spat in a voice that was very much Beauregard’s. 

Surprisingly, it was Essek who interrupted, his voice small and startling for all that it had been absent during the evening. His face was decidedly blank of any expression, his shoulders drawn up into that military straightness that served only to fill him out into a broader figure. 

“I think that it would be best if we took our leave, it is getting late,” he said.

“It’s not, Essek!” Jester interrupted, fretfully. “We baked a cake for later and we found this _really_ fancy wine that you’d like. Do you have work tomorrow or something?”

“I-” A gentle trace of a smile touched the corner of Essek’s mouth, something that he easily schooled back into cold nonchalance within a moment. “I am afraid that it is improper for two betrothed parties to visit one another at home after ten o’clock, even with chaperones present.”

To his credit, he did sound regretful, and his brows pinched together with a small crease as he explained. 

“Ugh,” Jester huffed, crossing her arms bodily over her chest. “That really sucks, you know?”

“What if we went, like, outside?” Beauregard interrupted, her lips already parting into a wicked smirk. 

“Public disturbance and disorder is a criminal offence,” Essek replied, tartly. 

“We’re not even tipsy,” Nott interjected. 

Essek simply met her large gaze with a thin-lipped, unimpressed glower that very much read ‘ _I know you_ ’. 

“I would like to retain my job,” Essek explained, “No drinking in the streets.”

“We need to get this man to Hupperdook,” Caleb murmured, sighing forlornly to add an overdramatic disdain to the statement. 

Beauregard smirked, reaching out to lay her arm heavily across Caleb’s shoulders in an aborted little half-hug that caused his throat to catch with nerves. Distantly he felt a confused warmth crawl over his skin, even as his brain distantly approved of the contact. He attempted half-heartedly to shrug off the weight of her arm. 

“He wouldn’t last ten minutes in Hupperdook, they’d eat him alive,” she laughed. 

“On that note,” Essek said, voice a little strained, “I think that we should take our leave.”

Essek stumbled to his feet, even as Verin rose much more steadily at his side. Despite their similar features it was surreal to consider them to be brothers; Verin with his heavy armour and thick mane of unruly hair was almost nothing alike Essek, who kept himself neatly tended. Essek was very much a product of the Courts he resided in; picturesque in how he was put together, adorned with snatches of silver jewels that glimmered against his skin. Caleb would have considered them strangers if not for the sharp blue eyes they both shared. They had the same eyes. 

“Wait,” Jester said, very seriously. Her nose scrunched up with some unpleasant consideration. “Am I supposed to kiss you?” 

The words served only to draw any air out of the room, a suspended silence in which even the wheeze of Caleb's breathing was too loud and the arm draped over his shoulders seemed to _burn_. The Nein all shared fleeting glances, their eyes rounded into various degrees of shock and concern, until every gaze in the room latched onto Essek with serious consideration. 

Essek’s own eyes were a little startled, his hands nervously clutching at the fabric of his shirt as he awkwardly straightened himself out. A concerned smirk touched his mouth, pursing his lips with some faux-laughter so transparent that Caleb was instantly relieved. To his side Beauregard remained tense and focused, and Caleb belatedly wondered if Essek was truly so easy to read, or if the meticulous training that Trent had forced upon him had in some ways been fruitful. Maybe he just had a knack for being able to read Essek. 

“I think that it is too soon for such things, no?” Essek replied, easily. “And I have told Verin fully of our plans, you do not have to pretend in front of him.”

“Oh,” Jester nodded, very seriously. “Alright.”

“Here,” Caduceus interjected, the soothing baritone of his voice seeming to seep through the nameless tension in the room. “I’ll see you both out.”

They took their leave awkwardly, Verin offering a dismissive thank you before trudging off after Caduceus, his rich voice heard echoing down the halls as he made inquiries about the cooking. Essek looked back at them for a moment, his mouth pressed into a subdued grimace before he fleetingly waved his hand and turned to trudge towards the exit. 

“Well, that was awkward,” Fjord said, once he heard the familiar tinkle of the bell in the entrance hall sound out the departure of their guests.

“It could have been way worse,” Jester reassured, although she herself seemed to be distant, her eyes staring off towards the adjacent wall with a glossy sheen of deep thought.

“I am surprised that no one was killed,” Yasha said.

“It was only a dinner,” Jester gasped, both scandalised and evidently delighted.

“I have seen many people killed at dinners,” Yasha shrugged. “Sometimes that was the main event.”

“Remind us to never go out for a meal with your old clan,” Beauregard said, shortly. 

\---

Time behaved strangely, Caleb noted, during the lead up to some big event. Some days would trickle by almost without notice, a series of mundane events that compiled into weeks before he even stopped to truly consider them. Other days, the ones that were becoming more prevalent as of late, seemed to stutter to a gruelling pace and to drag by so heavily that every detail imprinted itself into his hyperaware senses. 

His nerves were still frayed from the dinner, and so the next three days were uneventful and almost non-existent. They bought in some supplies for their venture, being greeted with only a tiny amount of scepticism from the local businesses. Other than their general preparations, Jester spoke to her mother one evening, skirting very neatly around the engagement entirely. 

No one seemed to miss that detail. No one seemed to know how to interpret it, either. 

Almost a week had passed since the engagement was announced before they heard from Essek again; almost four days since their dinner trickling by with no memory. 

It was hard to tell sometimes, when Caleb would catch himself vacantly staring at a solid wall with his head stuffed up with so much cotton he felt ready to choke on it, whether that was a normal way to feel. He never remembered doing that as a child. He never remembered being so desperate to forget himself that he preferred nothing at all.

Not before Trent. 

It was on that forth day, Caleb’s mind subdued and wandering, that Essek called out to him. 

He doubted that he would ever get used to the probes of someone’s voice in his mind, ricocheting like a deafening whisper in his skull. 

Essek’s voice was measured, wracking through Caleb with a violent flinch as he announced himself. There was no fumbling eagerness to his message like there was to be found in Jester’s; his tone was formal and controlled. He had planned ahead for it, then. If Caleb focused very hard he imagined that he could hear the crunch of his note paper as the man read from it.

Caleb was not dreadfully familiar with the city of Roshona, especially when he was expected to lead himself rather than trudge alone safely in the centre of his huddle of companions. He knew enough to find himself to Essek’s door, however, and he was eager enough to escape from the awkward tension that haunted the Nein that he had no doubts that he would be accepting Essek’s invitation alone. 

So not an hour after Essek had prodded into his mind with a gentle invitation, Caleb found himself rapping his scarred knuckles against the door to his estate.

Essek’s home was unassuming; terribly small and cowed by the buildings that surrounded it, but the door was a rich mahogany and the knocker was a sculpted, solid gold. 

Caleb was not left waiting, although he found himself reluctant to actually face Essek alone. It would be his first time seeing him by himself after the whole event, and he was nervous to hear _anything_ about what the man thought. He didn’t truly understand what he would find more terrible; if Essek had changed his mind, and decided that he did quite like Jester that way, or if he was still miserable.

But deep in his heart Caleb knew what he wanted, truly, and he felt terrible for wishing that misery onto his friend.   
  
Before he could stew any further in his throughs the door groaned open in front of him. Essek hovered before him, dressed simply, a dark shirt buttoned up to his throat and an even darker pair of trousers. His boots were spotless and clasped with silver buckles. His feet did not touch the ground, and Caleb managed to bite down on his wry smile at the sight. The man still saw fit to wear his silver jewellery, the collar chains tinkling as he moved to gesture Caleb inside.

“I have arranged for you all to be escorted by Verin for the first part of your journey,” Essek said, rather than offer any greeting. “He is escorting a relief of scouts into one of his outrider camps and it would be no harm for him to point you all in the right direction.”

“ _Danke_ ,” Caleb replied, softly. 

Once the door was closed behind him, and he found himself standing quite awkwardly in the reception hall that smelled sweetly of patchouli, he realised that he felt self-conscious. There was some nameless tension between them, a pregnant weight to the silence that brewed between them that at all other times had been so comfortable. 

“I have some maps, and a few notes in my study,” Essek bit out, his voice just on the strained side of politeness.

Caleb hated it; for a moment he hated _him_.

Something in that vitriol feeling must have translated into his expression, because Essek cringed. His eyes stuttered over Caleb’s face before he ducked his chin and looked very pointedly at the floor. His mouth opened and closed again, the curve of his throat working as he swallowed. When he looked up again he met Caleb’s eye, and the man could not bring himself to break such an intense gaze, even if his nape burned.

“I had no say in this,” Essek said, the words hissed between his teeth. His eyes seemed unable to stay fixed, raking over Caleb with some unnatural desperation. “Surely you believe me?”

“I-” Caleb started, snapping his jaw shut as he was cut off immediately. 

“What was I to say? I cannot refuse my Queen, especially when half of the Court is convinced that I’m neatly in your pockets already and the other half believes that I’m so deep in _your_ pocket that I’m too blind to see your treachery.”

Essek’s chest heaved as he spoke, the imploring plea to his tone so foreign in such an otherwise reserved character that Caleb could do nothing but stare, dumbfounded. His ribs ached, even as his head pulsed with a searing tension that he knew like kin because it was the sear of utter exhaustion. 

“Essek,” Caleb said, very firmly. 

But Essek pressed on, seemingly ignorant to Caleb entirely. His hair fell out of place, sweeping to kiss his forehead with a sway as he shook his head.

“If I refused her I would be branded a traitor at the very least; let alone the fact that I simply could _not_ say no. It was an order, I-”

“ _Essek_ ,” Caleb snarled, reaching out a hand to catch Essek as he wildly gesticulated between them. The man’s wrist was firm beneath his touch, and his fingers pressed against the tender flesh of his wrist, feeling the pounding of his heartbeat beneath. 

Had he even spoken about this with his brother? Caleb wondered, wincing as he took in the utterly dishevelled man before him. How much sleep had he lost, stewing in his worry and his panic? Not only had his precarious position at Court been endangered, but the people he considered to be friends had spent the last week snarling at his name.

Had those emotions, bottled up and venomous, curdled in his heart over those long days? 

Caleb’s fingers flexed against the fragile bones of Essek’s wrist, smoothing over the soft skin there.

“No one is angry at you,” he lied. 

“I would not have gotten this far in my career if I could not read the room,” Essek replied simply, levelling Caleb with a flat expression. One of his eyebrows arched incredulously towards his hairline. “You’re all quite upset. Rightfully so, I must admit.”

“Not at _you_ ,” Caleb insisted, tilting his head in that dreadfully submissive way he favoured. It made him appear as less of a threat; Trent had taught him that subterfuge suited him when he was a young man. Little unassuming Bren who would weasel himself into favour and strike when he was dismissed as vulnerable and harmless. “The situation is not a good one, I will not lie to you and say that we are happy about it, but no one is holding you accountable.”

It was in that moment Caleb realised that he was still clutching the other man’s arm. He had not released his grip and Essek had made no motion to pull away. Their arms filled the space between them awkwardly, suspended stupidly in a way that they both seemed to process simultaneously, if Essek’s suddenly rapid blinking was any indication. 

They drew apart hurriedly, Caleb snatching his hand back as if scorched even as Essek retracted his arm to fold over his chest. 

A heady curl of embarrassment prickled over Caleb’s skin, a plume of warmth brushing his cheeks. 

“I have a map, and some field notes,” Essek stammered out, a hurried tumble of words. “Excuse me.”

Without waiting for a response he turned and slipped into one of the doorways deeper into the house. A varnished door clicked into place behind him, the wooden surface painted an immaculate grey that swirled in the wispy orange glow of the magically enhanced candlelight. 

Truly, Caleb had not expected to be invited into Essek’s home. He had seen the interior only once before, when he and Nott had been allowed to pour over notes in a research tower. The air had been ablaze with electric tension, and still the memory caused something enthralling to writhe in his chest. The lab had been immaculate, an order even to the chaos of notes and journals. He wondered if the rest of Essek’s home was as uniform, if his parlour was lived in or seemed like the scarcely breathed in show-room. Maybe his own room would be more personal. Would Essek keep trinkets and small titbits in the safety of his bedroom? 

Essek re-emerged before Caleb had the opportunity to process why he cared; shuttering the thought away even as that heat in his chest swelled. 

He had a thick leather bundle clasped between both hands. A few swatches of white papers peaked from the edges, lined with thick writing in black ink. Caleb narrowed his eyes as they were presented to him, taking them into his own grasp and huffing a surprised gasp at the heft.

“Just a _few_ notes,” Caleb said, dreadfully deadpan. 

Essek frowned, steepling his long fingers together. His fingertips adorned a few black smudges, and the nail of his thumb was splintered as if bitten.

“I thought overpreparation would be safer than too little. I know how haphazard you can all be and I do not want any risk to be taken due to my lack of research.” Essek’s mouth dipped into a frown, and Caleb clenched his fingers until the leather bundle creaked. Part of him wished they were closer, so that he had an excuse to press a comforting hand to his shoulder or to his jaw. He wished he knew what words would offer some reassurance.

“It was a joke,” Caleb said, instead. “We appreciate the effort.”

Essek stared at him for a moment, a gentle note of eye contact in which every single meticulous defence he cultivated seemed to crumble. For a strikingly raw moment he looked _vulnerable_ and so dreadfully young. Then, his mouth pulled tensely at the corners and he stammered out a laugh that was not too unlike the wheeze of a pained cough. 

It was, perhaps, one of the most genuine things Caleb had ever heard from him. 

“We will take care to look through these,” Caleb began, before Essek had schooled his expression back into nonchalance. “And we will plan to make sure that your work does not go to waste.

Even as he said it the words felt like a bitter lie on his tongue. The Mighty Nein were proficient in an array of skills, the ultimate being the ability to send even the most carefully crafted plans awry. 

“Of course you will,” Essek replied, and his doubtful expression was intentionally flat.

Essek escorted him the few short steps to the door, and Caleb bustled out into the street without a further word. The leather package was clutched tightly to his chest for the entire walk home. 

\---

“I think discretion would be important,” Fjord said, bracing his hands on his hips as he stood at the head of the table. Night found them caught up in a meeting, swarmed around the table in the kitchen as they poured over notes and hashed out plans together. An uncomfortable heat swarmed in the room, the stifling oppression that set Caleb's muscles with tension - they had been stuck there for much too long. 

In the low lamplight the room was awash with golds and rich oranges. The bundle of papers had been unfurled and picked through by the Nein, swatches of disordered papers coated the table, each person cultivating their own senseless notes. If it were possible it seemed that they knew less now than they did before Caleb brought Essek's research home. 

Formulating a plan was always one of Caleb’s least favourite aspect of being part of a group again; when it was just Nott with him he always knew that he would get his way. She had that much faith in him. Or she did not have the heart to tell him no. 

“Well this paper here says that there was at least twelve figures spotted heading in and out of the caverns over the last week,” Beauregard said tiredly, shaking the aforementioned page with a crinkle. “But this report here says they’ve been barren for weeks.”

“I have one that says they saw a super tall guy using them just last week,” Jester interrupted. 

She ran a hand over her face, pressing firmly against the pudge of her cheek. The frustrated whine she griped out was not entirely unwarranted. 

They had been battering their heads with the package for the better part of two hours; working deep into the evening and discovering that the reports were becoming more and more convoluted as the hours dragged laboriously by. 

“How many scouting parties are these measured across?” Yasha asked, hesitantly from her seat at the end of the table, opposite Fjord. 

She had not taken to reading the documents herself, content to sit and whet the blade of her sword with an array of citrus smelling oils and a small dark stone. 

“Three,” Beauregard huffed.

“Maybe some of them are not watching the area properly,” Yasha shrugged, simply, accented by the metallic grind of her blade.

“Or maybe some of them are being overdramatic,” Caduceus supplied instead, “there’s a massive difference between twelve men and two; and then again between three men and none.”

“There could be other entrances,” Nott offered, her mouth twisting into a sour frown. “The caves where the-uh - _they_ held me-” her words are interrupted by a pained grimace -” they were like a maze on the inside, with lots of different passageways and exits, some of them were fake and just led to traps. If those caverns are like that on the inside it’s no wonder people don’t see as many come out as go in.”

“That is a very good point, actually,” Fjord replied. 

“So we have no idea how many people could be down there,” Beauregard clarified.

“It could be like a whole society of underground people!” Jester beamed, excitedly clapping her hands. Somehow she still made it seem dignified, the graceful applause of the Menagerie elites. 

“We should be careful then,” Fjord began, tapping one taloned finger against the parchment to draw the attention of the Nein. “Go in quietly and keep our approach as silent as possible. We stay together and we stay low, keep track of the entrance we came from and if we need to get out we get out fast.”

They formulated a plan throughout the night, and knowing how the Nein tended to follow those regiments, Caleb committed only the bare minimum of it to memory. 

\---

They left on an entirely unremarkable morning, under a veil of darkness that was profound enough to still be considered night. A few forlorn stars weakly twinkled in the skies above, distant flecks of brilliant white that studded the sky like the silver bolts that held together Verin’s abyssal black armour. 

Verin met them, wearing that heavy uniform beneath a grey fur-lined winter cloak, outside of the Lucid Bastion. A collection of scouts were huddled behind him, the trio stooping together with their arms wrapped around themselves as they shivered through the brisque morning chill. Caleb belatedly recognised the sharp jaw of a woman who often tended the door to the teleportation chamber, her face only recognisable by the thick scar that cleft open her lips. 

“It is good of you to join us,” Verin said, words turning into a wispy white frost as he spoke.

He held himself with a confident air of military straightness, his face drawn in a decidedly blank expression that was very much a shadow of Essek. No easy conversation flowed from him, and his scouting trio seemed either unwilling to or unbothered about striking up some banter between the groups. 

So Verin led them easily along to the teleportation chambers inside the Bastion, flanked on all sides by his men and relaying precise orders to them as they went. For the most part is was uninteresting gibberish, running over their goals and the safety requirements that the should adhere to.

"So if we see a big fuck-off yeti, don't engage," bit out Abbis, the woman with the scarred mouth. "Got it."

Despite his composed exterior Verin snorted, a brash sound that he quickly covered with a gloved hand. "That's the gist of it I suppose, yeah."

Although their faces were entirely concealed by their thick hoods and the silver veneer of their helms a chorus of sniggering rose among the scouts. In his peripheral Caleb watched as Beauregard attempted to bite down on a smirk of her own. 

It was a squeeze to get them all crammed into the teleportation chamber together, and Caleb found himself pressed very firmly up against the marble wall with Caduceus hunched at his side. The man wore a tender smile during the whole exchange, and Caleb found himself wondering whether he was actually enjoying the experience - he was probably used to the bustle of this many people, after all - or if he was too tired to process the situation properly. 

Regardless, Caleb had no time to truly translate the expression before his vision was consumed by a vibrant flash of gold and cyan as the teleportation runes flared to life. A heady stench of lightning broiled in the room, a static friction burning over his skin before his vision was filled entirely with a startling white. 

The process of transporting was always a jarring one, lodging his gut in his throat even as his lungs shrieked for air that wasn’t there. Typically, the blindness would only be a matter of seconds, the milky void gradually fading into a wash of colours and the new scenery as his brain reeled to catch up with the sudden movement. 

Caleb blinked as his stomach righted itself, flighty and queasy, and that whiteness did not fade. His skin pulsed with heat before it began to prickle with a frigid chill. 

“Ah, fantastic,” said one of the scouts, the only man amongst them. 

“Every time,” Verin replied, muffled and somewhere behind Caleb. “Every _bloody_ time. Not once have we arrived here and it hasn’t been smack-bam in the middle of a storm.”

As if enticed by those words, Caleb’s brain began to piece together his surroundings. The veil of white pulled across his vision faded into a flurry of snowflakes, brutal as they froze against his skin. His lips already began to burn.

“The first camp shouldn’t be too far out from here, so long as we keep heading North,” said Abbis with a disdainful sigh. "If we hurry we might get there before the frostbite sets in."

"I'd very much like to keep my fingers," the smallest of the scouts said. 

"You can borrow my gloves," Jester offered, holding out her hands to reveal the leather fur-trimmed gloves in question. The scouts helm tilted as they seemed to consider the offer, white hair whipping in the winds. 

Caleb raised his arm, the dark purple of his sleeve stark against the canvas of snow. He pointed assuredly to the North. “That way, then.”

To his left he saw the figure of Verin follow the gesture, shooting a critical eye over his outstretched arm. It was only when Yasha grumbled under her breath and began to trudge through the thickets of knee deep snow in that direction that he stopped glaring, watching instead as the Nein began to follow in the trenches the woman cut out of the snow. Eventually the scouts began to scamper after them, the thin girl glued to Jester's side and caught up in some conversation about hot chocolate of all things. 

It was going to be a long venture, really, if Verin was going to treat them as saboteurs the entire time. 

\---

They seemed to walk for hours, snowflakes freezing against his lashes and gnawing at his skin. It was going to be burned, Caleb realised belatedly, bruised red and purple by the harsh environment. 

Verin had taken up the rear of the troop, joined eventually by Caduceus who had coaxed him into some easy conversation about plants that grew in the tundras. It was difficult to hear them over the winds, but Caleb strained if only to revel in the way Verin's voice fumbled, as if he were sure he was being deceived but not exactly understanding just _how_. 

"Ah," Abbis called out into the stormy sea of white, "home sweet home."

Caleb glanced up to find an impression of greys and purples on the horizon, a billowing Dynasty banner flowing in the breeze. A steady stream of grey smoke was cutting into the skies, and the hiss and groan of crackling logs soon began to occupy the air. His nose was numb but he could still smell that distant charcoal burn, and the grizzle of seared fat that must be coming from the heavy iron stew pot hanged over the flame. 

The first camp was a secluded, beaten thing. It was nestled up against a slanted hillside, protected from the cruel weather on one side by the severe overhang. A few haphazard canvas tents were slapped up against the stone wall in order to better fend off the winds, stooped and sad looking. A small fire was sputtering in a stone circle, valiantly throwing up sparks in the face of the storm.

Terrible winds howled, a shrieking mantra that utterly drowned out the voice of the figure who greeted them; a lithe man who beckoned them with a wave of his arm. 

“Thank the Gods, I’m fucking freezing my ass off out-” the scout started, startling when he noticed Verin. His small eyes rounded into surprised discs, and his shoulders straightened into a painful stance as he swallowed. “No reports to be made, sir.”

“Take your leave then, Rikrar,” Verin dismissed, waving a gloved hand towards the man. 

Rikrar nodded simply, like one of those quaint spring-loaded children's toys. He turned as if to retreat before his eyes ran across the rest of the party, narrowing into grey slits as he met Caleb's gaze for a brief moment. That face that had once been softened in joy instead shuttered into a cruel glower. His stout nose - uneven as if it had once been broken - crumpled as he sneered. 

"I did not know that we welcomed the Empire into our camps." His scowl only seemed to deepen as he spoke.

"We don't," Verin bit out, surprisingly harsh. If Caleb had thought his tone had been cruel when he had cornered him in the Xhorhaus, this was something entirely worse. "These are the Heroes of the Dynasty, and will be treated as such."

"Of course, I understand," Rikrar nodded, spoken in a tone that said he did not. 

Before Verin could speak any further he turned on his heel and ducked into one of the open tents, the flap billowed in the wind behind him, the heavily treated leather drumming out a beat.

"Don't take it personally," whispered Jester's new companion, Khaless. One of her arms was neatly threaded through the loop of Jester's own, and she spoke behind the fold of her hand as if sharing a secret. "He's like that _all_ the time." 

"You are employed in service of the Dynasty," Verin said. All at once a tremor ran through the scouts, jumping up in a military ease as their silver helms all snapped to attention. "Not to gossip."

With that the scouting party seemed to fall into their routine; Khaless scampering off to tend to the firepit, feeding the flame both with a few cut logs and with a grateful runic gesture. The two others, Abbis and Nym, seemed to take up posts on opposite ends of the camp. There they stood like sentinels braced against the winds, facing out into the destitute wilderness and scanning the incomprehensible horizons.

As he was left alone Verin seemed to deflate, raising a hand to nip the bridge of his nose between his fingers. His sigh was soundless but turned to a white mist before him. 

“I’ll walk you a little further, and try to point you out towards the caverns,” Verin said, turning to face Fjord.

“We appreciate it,” Fjord nodded eagerly, a bashful smile touched his lips. Caleb couldn’t tell how much of the colour in his cheeks was embarrassment at having to accept the assistance and how much of it was from the gnawing cold.

\---

It was remarkable, really, how such a vast and empty environment managed to set each and every one of his nerves on edge. It was that sprawling snowy landscape that was host to innumerable nameless beasts that lingered just beyond the scope of his vision, shaded by the gleaming white snows. 

Caleb gazed out all around him, squinting against that radiant whiteness until his eyes prickled wetly. Distantly, his pulse jumped in his throat, a babbling whisper acting as a constant reminder of his fear. 

Something about being out in the open made him feel especially vulnerable, even in such a large group, and even with Yasha’s lumbering step taking up their flank. The immense heft of her sword was reduced to a black fleck of _nothing_ compared to the heavy mounds of snowdrift that opened up around them. There could be anything slumbering between those immense mounds, and they wouldn’t even know until they were upon them. 

Caleb liked to think that the eyes he felt glued to him were only imagined. 

In the distance some unknown creature cawed, the shrieking wail echoing throughout the landscape. 

He watched as Verin’s head snapped up at the sound, his hair catching in the scathing breeze and whipping like torrents around him. To his side Fjord seemed to mimic the gesture, the man’s eyes narrowing into yellow slits as he scanned the vacant horizon before them. 

A nameless tension swelled between them, each creak of the snow beneath their tread seeming deafening. Beside him, Nott was taking great precaution to step into the impressions left before them, taking small leaps to fill in the divot left by Fjord’s heavy winter boots. 

Despite how long they had been meandering through the icefields, it was only in the moment that Caleb felt absurdly overwhelmed. It was as if a wave of awareness washed over him with unforgiving clarity; the howling wind screeching in his ear and nipping at his skin until it burned with fiery numbness, the way his fingers felt swollen and disjointed, knuckles a ghastly purple like rich wine and bruises, the way his muscles burned even as his skin was numbed with cold. 

How, even beneath the warble of the wind, there was some terrible creaking sound. 

It was some distant, disjointed thing, like the rumble of a ship as the old boards croaked when they broached a terrible wave. 

Caleb’s steps faltered, the man drawing to a stop as he focused more keenly on the noise, tilting his head as if that would help him hear it more clearly over the howling breeze. His hair whipped like thread against his face, feeling like a lash against the weather-bitten skin.

Beauregard commented on it first. 

In his peripheral the woman was a streak of blue, a heavily furred hood concealing her face. Her tunic, however, was cropped and revealed the muscle of her arms where it was paled to a corpse-like hue by the cold. Her hand reached out in a sudden motion, catching Jester by the billowing fabric of her green cloak. Beauregard’s fingers twisted, tugging the shorter woman into a startled stop, announced only by her surprised squeak. 

“Does anyone else hear that?” Beauregard said, voice terse and consumed mostly by the storm.

“Hm,” Verin replied, scarcely audible. 

The group huddled then, drawing into one another in some anxious crowd. Then, without any discussion between them, every set of eyes rounded quite pointedly up and to Caduceus, whose fur was mattered and damp with flecks of mottled snow. 

He was their finder of things, after all. He had found Jester and Fjord when they were taken, and he was remarkably talented at discovering all sorts of little niches that would be beyond Caleb’s depth of perception. 

“I don’t actually hear anything,” Caduceus said after a moment, his bovine ears flexing as he seemed to listen with some intent. “Is it not just the-”

Caleb would never be entirely certain what Caduceus was going to blame the noise on, because in that moment the ground collapsed beneath them. 

It felt as if the floor was yanked from beneath his feet, as if they had stepped out from that snowy knoll onto an unstable sand dune, sending the structure beneath their boots into a cascade. Caleb’s arms flailed to find some balance, even as he felt a sharp tug at the base of his coat that could have been Nott’s small hand seeking some sort of purchase. The air was filled with a mantra of startled shouts, the disdainful noises almost entirely consumed by a behemoth sound of shattering. 

Before them the snow had burst into the air, left to cascade down in a thick white torrent. Flecks of brown decayed earth hailed down amongst it, filling the air with the stench of rot and grit, even as something more putrid and sulphur began to swell.

The debris parted like some sickly veil, a beaded curtain that drew open to reveal the monumental shape of some creature. It seemed to be a worm, if not for the sheer bulk of the creature being more than a building. Rows of bone white teeth refracted like gems as the sun glinted off of them, polished to some razor sharpness as they peaked wetly from a twisted maw. Beyond the rows of fangs two coal-black eyes were sunken into a swollen head, so beady and unfocused that Caleb found himself briefly wondering if it could even see. Its body was garnished with thick patches of twisted scales, glinting brightly in the dewy sunlight. 

“ _Run_ ,” Verin barked, and Caleb had no room for thought left. 

Terror propelled him into motion, twisting sharply on his heel and sprinting back in the direction they had come from. The frigid wind seemed to work against him, seizing in his lungs and burning through his chest. Heavy sloughs of snow seemed to pull down at his feet, slowing his movements.

It felt like the very winds were holding him back, tugging at his cloak and causing him to fumble to a stop a few feet away. When he turned back to face the creature - the lumbering creature, the incredibly _large_ creature - the rest of the Nein had reacted similarly, scattering in different directions and pulling free weapons in their panic. Hovering ominously, in a vibrant contrast to the flurry of white and grey around them, a pink lollipop had appeared above Jester’s head. 

Caleb’s fingers twitched at his side, a spell forming on his lips before his mind had a chance to stop reeling and snap into arcane focus. He stuffed his free hand into his satchel, taking a moment to wrestle with the rusted bite of the latch, before his finger found purchase on the smooth surface of obsidian. 

Dunamancy was still unfamiliar to him, and his fingers were hesitant as he traced the runes into being. A cotton thickness coated his tongue, stifling and buzzing with a fervid energy that tasted distantly of copper and mint. 

Then, snapping into existence before them, an Echo appeared. It was a ghastly looking thing, a shadow of pure nebulous black that seemed to be composed more so of empty nothingness than of a dark material. It wore Caleb’s face and donned his clothes, but its obsidian cloak did not move with the breeze. In the back of his mind he heard Essek huff a disappointed sigh at the poor attempt. 

A beat of silence consumed them; the creature reared back its elongated, worm-like body. Muscle rippled along its underbelly, serrated with thick scar tissue and smeared with gritty dirt. Fjord drew his sword with a tell-tale gleam of steel, a heady scent of ozone burning Caleb’s nose as the man’s palm swelled with some twisted, arcane energy. Caleb’s Echo raised its hand towards the creature, palm outstretched as its ghastly mouth moved in silent imitation.

Nott attacked first. 

A mechanical _thwang_ echoed through the air, a dark streaking bolt cutting beyond Caleb and embedding itself into the creature’s fleshy body with a satisfying crunch. It shuddered at the contact, screeching its dissent at the abrasion, and the scene fell easily into chaos after that. 

Details that had once been sharp melded simply into a blur, a mantra of words echoing in tandem to Caleb’ heartbeat against his temple. His movements and calculations were heralded always by his pleading; _keep yourself alive, keep Nott alive, always have an exit._

His head was still attached, Nott was a blur darting about in his peripheral, and he had a heavy chunk of chalk tucked into his satchel. Worst case scenario he would grab Nott by the scruff and drag her away to some safe place to draw their escape out. 

But that would mean leaving the Nein, he remembered belatedly, and snarled in irritation even as his Echo unleashed a scorching inferno and he mentally amended his list. 

_Keep Nott alive, keep the Nein alive, always leave them an exit._

The rancid curl of burning flesh was always a cruel stench, the bubbling swell of blisters forming over charred and blackened skin. The creature shrieked and the Echo dispelled and Caleb’s mind pulsed with terrible memories that festered and harried him. Ash felt like grit against his teeth and an iron bell blared in his ears. 

His mind was suddenly plunged into water, his hearing echoing and vacant. Distantly, if he strained, he could hear the clamour of combat. But his heartbeat was deafening, and it thudded in his mind and in his throat and against the tender skin of his wrist. 

Then his vision was distorted; his view of scorched skin and smouldering meat replaced instead with a thick chest and treated, fur-trimmed leathers. When he dragged his distracted gaze up he saw Fjord’s face creased with a severe frown, a thin sheen of sweat glistening over his forehead even as his eyes met Caleb’s own with such sincerity that their brief connection felt like a physical strike. 

A hand clutched his own, large and calloused, with knuckles that were laced with layers of rough scar tissue. That hand squeezed, firmly, and Caleb blinked as his mind sluggishly processed the contact.

“Please,” Fjord breathed, his other hand tightening on his sword’s hilt with a creak. “Not right now.”

Caleb opened his mouth, his throat hitching around a wad of emotion. Instead he clamped his jaw with such force that it ached, even as the crackle of wood buckling under fire echoed in his mind, and he nodded. 

Fjord released his hand with a grim nod, whirling around and skirting the edge of the fray once again. His movement allowed Caleb to take in the changing battle, noting how Yasha had thrust her sword into the creature’s exposed hide, steel biting into melting flesh. The woman’s face was drawn into a terrible snarl, even as Beauregard darted beneath her hulking frame to deliver a few hardy punches to the exposed flesh.

Verin, appearing as a flash of violet and a tangle of white, came up behind the creature with a cry, hacking into the hide with fierce precision. 

It was simple enough for them to fell it, after that. It was almost routine for them, once they each found their own niche in a battle. Jester and Nott dodging in and out of combat, switching between their deceptive attacks as Fjord and Caduceus held up the rear with supporting spells. Caleb found himself fumbling through a few more spells, wincing as flame licked across skin with a broiling hiss. It was Beauregard who landed the last hit, finding purchase on Yasha’s bowed back to leverage herself towards the creature’s face. Her bo staff snapping out like the bite of a viper, embedding itself into one of those tiny, beady eyes and twisting until the worm-like monster shrieked through all of those terrible teeth and collapsed into a heap. 

The ground quaked as it tumbled, a shudder that caused a fine powder of fresh snow to jump and re-settle itself with the motion. The creature twitched in its death throes, the neat lattice of its serpentine scales glimmering with some trinkets that Jester immediately crooned at. 

The Nein inched closer like carrion, hooded vultures waiting for someone to make the call. 

Jester unsheathed one of her small blades with a forlorn sigh.

“Guys,” she said, very seriously. “We can’t just leave this stuff lying around, you know?”

Seeming to find that reasoning satisfactory, the rest of the Nein began to close the distance to the corpse, each finding their own patch of scales to begin picking apart for anything that seemed remotely valuable. 

Caleb rounded towards the back, where the monster had been lacerated with blades rather than scorched by flame. The thick wounds there trickled lazy torrents of blood, staining the white scales a shocking crimson. A heady stench of iron curdled in the air, and Caleb winced as he raised a hand to try and smooth some of the gritty dirt from the grooves of the hide. The scales could be valuable, if he could wiggle enough loose to try and sell to Pumat Sol. 

“What was that?” 

The voice startled him, and Caleb whipped his head up even as he failed entirely to suppress a shudder. 

Verin watched him cautiously, bright eyes narrowed. A few loose strands of hair stuck to his dark skin with a heavy sweat, and his mouth parted still to pant weakly, the breaths turning into a white mist between them.

“Some type of worm, I think?” Caleb said, shrugging loosely as Verin sidled up to him. 

The man turned toward the creature, but did not raise a hand to help as Caleb began to wriggle a few of the scales loose. Their edges were serrated and between their gnarled edges an array of objects had become caught. There was of course thick patches of sour smelling dirt, but there was also some gems to be found embedded there, and in one area a royal swatch of fabric dyed a Dynasty purple. 

“I meant that spell,” Verin pressed. His eyes were latched onto Caleb’s face, and so in turn he made a conscious effort not to return his gaze.

“The fireball?” Caleb asked.

“No,” Verin bit out, frustrated. “The _Echo_. That’s Dunamancy.” 

Caleb’s hand slipped against the scale, a shrieking pain slicing along his palm even as his mind whited out and anxiety flittered like wings in his chest. 

_Scheiße._

“I, uh, well-” Caleb stammered, only pulling his hand back as an afterthought, pressing against the stinging injury to stunt the trickle of blood that flowed wetly against his palm. He winced at the pressure and occupied himself by glaring up at Verin. 

“Essek taught you, then?” Verin pressed.

Caleb swallowed thickly, a tension jumping against his jaw even as his mind scrambled for any decent excuse as to why a child of the Empire would know such coveted Dynasty magics. 

“ _Ja_ ,” Caleb relented, voice very small. “It was not entirely willing. I did bother him about it, at first. The Bright Queen assigned him to attend to us, and I likely abused that. I shouldn't have pushed-”

“He was not assigned to keep you _happy_. His task was to monitor you all, to ensure that you did not stumble across any secrets.” The look he levelled Caleb with would have enticed a smile, if the conversation were fonder. “If he did not want to teach you he wouldn’t have,” Verin replied. “And if you were bothering him he would have made it so that your hand exploded the moment you tried to cast it.”

Caleb was already wincing and beginning to stammer out an apology when his mind processed the words. Verin's tone was not angry, scarcely a shadow of the beratement he had hurled at his scout. If anything he sounded bewildered, an exhausted sigh that seemed to deflate some intimidating breadth from his shoulders. 

He reached out a hand, and Caleb watched perplexed as the man reached very gingerly towards him. His fingers skirted across the wrist of Caleb's injured hand, now entirely numbed by the pain and the cold in tandem. He pulled until Caleb's hand was nestled between both of his own, one bare and warm, the other still covered by the leather of his glove, still slick with sticky blood. Verin’s fingers pressed very lightly to the edge of the wound that cut across Caleb's palm, and a gentle warmth consumed him until his entire hand was numb with that carnal pressure. He watched as the pink meat of his flesh beneath the cut began to knit very easily together, imbued with a healthy yellow glow. His skin regrew, the pain subsided, and Verin’s fingers brushed feather-soft over the now vanished injury. 

Seemingly satisfied with his work, Verin moved as if to pull away. Caleb felt some foreign emotion swell in his chest then, a warmth that he only belatedly identified as boldness. 

“Verin,” he said, very seriously. “Do not blame Essek for this. I’m accountable.”

“We must all answer for our own actions,” Verin said, after a stunted moment in which his gaze roved over Caleb’s face. He withdrew his hand to his side once more, tugging a leather glove from his belt and replacing it onto his hand. “Stop speaking on his behalf, little Empireling, my brother can attest for himself. I’ll get the story from him directly.”

Then Verin turned from him, heading out to join Caduceus where the man had appointed himself to watch the horizons for any more lingering threats. He had never liked the process of looting from the dead very much, even when the corpse was that of a monster. 

It was only when Caleb raised his hand to curiously pick at the healed wound that he realised he had not thanked Verin for his healing. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, your comments and kudos are wonderful and appreciated <3
> 
> I promise that hotboi will return next chapter x

“Wait, wait, wait!” Jester chirruped. “Verin, you know how to heal!?”

It was the third time she had asked an iteration of that very same question, the radiant glee not leaving her face for one moment. 

They had made camp for the evening beneath some craggy cliff, a severe overhang providing some modicum of shelter, but allowing enough open air in that they were able to kindle a fire. 

They all encircled that fire as they bedded down, tucking their bedrolls as close as they were able without risking a fire hazard or burned toes in the middle of the night. Caduceus had set some heady stew of cardamom and mushroom to boil, and the savoury scent carried through the encampment. 

Caleb found himself bedded down with Nott to his left, as was routine for them, and with Jester to his right, which was a rather strange occurrence. 

He folded his hands into his lap as the group praised Verin for his many talents once again, and Caleb massaged an aching muscle where the ball of his thumb fit into the joint. He had managed to pull seven of those scales before they had decided to take their leave, and they were wrapped and tucked away in the recesses of his satchel. 

“It is important for all captains to be educated in healing,” Verin dismissed, turning back to regard them from where he lingered on the outskirts of the camp. He had seemingly appointed himself to keep watch, the winds whipping his dark cloak out around him like some shroud. “I doubt that I am as talented as you are.”

Jester giggled, raising her fingertips to press very lightly against the curve of her smile. Opposite them and luminated by the light of their campfire, Caleb watched as Fjord and Caduceus shared a disbelieving grimace. 

“I mean,” Beauregard interrupted, peering up from where her hands were clasped around a steaming cup. “If it weren’t for Caduceus we’d probably all be dead,  _ so _ .”

“Well I wouldn’t say that, you’re all very capable and I-” Caduceus stammered out, his ears folding back to press flat against his head. 

“Then you are lucky to have two very talented healers at your disposal,” Verin amended, turning once more to face the wilderness. In the drear moonlight the world was backlit with blue, melancholic and suppressive. Frost was heavy in the air, gnawing into bones even beneath treated leather cloaks. 

“Oh my  _ gosh _ ,” Jester faux-whispered, wiggling her eyebrows towards Caduceus. Caleb wished very much to bury his face into the safe confines of his hands and to scream, but that would likely be very socially unacceptable. 

Thankfully, Nott seemed inclined to speak on his behalf. The woman tipped her head over to grumble to Jester, voice not entirely unkind: “Do you have to fall for everyone we meet?”

“Not  _ everyone _ ,” Jester whined, dismissively waving the woman away. “But with some people it’s just so easy. Especially when they’re nice.”

“Nice,” Yasha grumbled.

“Can we please not talk about this?” Fjord interjected, face pinched into a very pained expression. His eyes looked slightly wet, and Caleb could not tell if it was from the wood smoke or the embarrassment. “We need to stay focussed.”

“Oh, Jester,” Nott said, pointedly ignoring Fjord’s pleas. She peered around Caleb so that her eyes could latch onto the Tiefling. “Are you going to send Essek a good night message? That would be very sweet.”

“Gods,” Beauregard wretched.

Caleb appreciated the sentiment behind her vitriol, even as some unpleasant sensation brewed in his gut. He turned his back to Jester, lowering down into his bedroll and closing his eyes as if that would shutter out their flow of words. He had not removed his leather harness, and the ridged spine of his spell book bit into the skin between his ribs like a dagger poised against his heart. For a moment he appreciated that hurt, it drew his mind away from the reality of his companions. 

“That is such a good idea, oh my Gods, what should I say?” Jester replied, and Caleb heard the crinkle of her bedroll as she excitedly shuffled. Even with his eyes closed and his back to her he could hear the radiant smile, could picture it creasing across her face. 

“Oh!” Nott barked, her small hands finding purchase on Caleb’s shoulder as she leered over the top of him. “Tell him that you’re thinking about him, but in like a sultry sort of way so that he’s like ‘is she thinking of me or  _ thinking _ of me-”

“That is such a good idea, and I can be like ‘ohh, I just don’t know how I’m ever to survive without you here-’”

“This is stupid,” Fjord supplied, distantly. 

“Shush,” Jester squealed out, clapping her hands distinctly in a way that Caleb knew was a beckon for them all to fall silent. “Okay, okay, I can be causal and sultry and-”

“Ask him if he’s feeling all lonesome,” Nott supplied. 

Caleb shifted minutely, a roll of his shoulder that caused Nott to slip and lose her purchase against him with a startled yelp. She flopped down against his side with an irritated little huff, and when she righted herself into a sitting position again she remained tucked against his side but did not lean too heavily on him.

“Right, here we go,” Jester announced, and Caleb could sense the shift in the atmosphere. There was some primal dip into the arcane, a fizzling scent of ozone and sulphur. “ _ Hey, Essek, are you sleeping? I was thinking about you because I’m just so lonely without you here. You can’t see but I’m wriggling my-” _

Abruptly, Jester’s message was punctuated by a heavy chuckle. Caleb cracked one eye open to find Verin facing them again, highlighted with some golden sheen from the flame. His chest shook silently as he laughed, and his face was creased with some delighted animosity that only siblings seemed capable of harbouring. 

“Did he answer?” Verin asked, much too delighted. 

There was a distinct patter of sound as Jester drummed her talons against her thigh. She beat out a little song, and then followed it up with another. Another moment passed after that. The silence between them swelled into some airless pocket of tension.

“He said goodnight,” Jester bit out, seemingly not bothered about masking her disappointment.

“In a sexy way?” Beauregard asked. 

“No,” Jester replied, and Caleb could hear the frown as it dampened her tone. 

“I think that you should ask if it was supposed to be sexy,” Nott said, very seriously. “It’s so easy for these things to be miscommunicated by magic.”

“That is a terrible idea,” Fjord said, spluttering. Caleb hummed some vague noise of agreement, mostly lost against the crook of his elbow, where he had folded his arm up to act as a pillow. 

“I think it’s a fantastic idea,” Verin supplied.

“Well, you would know best,” Jester reasoned. 

“I absolutely do, you’re right,” Verin said, and despite being so unfamiliar to him, Caleb could hear the delight that curled proudly on his tongue. 

To his right Jester shifted, the air pulsed with an arcane sizzle, pouring out to occupy the space surrounding her. Some unnatural shift of air brushed up behind her and Caleb did not have to think very hard to venture a guess towards just what or  _ who _ that was. 

“ _ Hey, it’s me again. So like, was that supposed to be a flirty goodnight or just a platonic one? ‘Cos Caleb was asking and he- _ ” 

Caleb reeled up, feeling Nott slip against the leather cover of his bedroll. The woman made a distinct sound of protest, latching one of her lithe hands around his arm to stop from falling completely. He was distinctly aware of a chorus of chuckling rising from their encampment, even Fjord feebly laughing at the display. Some heat pulsed against his nape, circling very neatly over the backs of his ears until they burned. 

His heart was an uncomfortable swell in his chest, straining against his ribs. Beneath the flutter of nerves that rose in his gut, warm and unpleasant, he found some strange thing pry against his better judgement. He wanted to know how Essek reacted to that. Was he tucked up in that quiet tower by himself, thinking of Caleb now? 

Then another thought washed through him, grounding and disappointed: _why do you even care?_

Jester turned to fix him with a wicked flash of her smile, cutting across her face like some weapon. Her eyes met his and it was as if she saw straight through him, pinning him in place with that intense brightness to her eye. “He says goodnight to you, Caleb.”

“Ah,” Caleb breathed, feeling for a moment entirely unsure. That was a dangerous thing to be, especially for someone as hunted as he was. “Alright?”

“I am, well,” Caleb gestured a thumb towards himself before knocking it down a few inches to gesture to his bedroll. “You know, sleeping.”

“Right,” Jester nodded very seriously. Her hand snaked up to catch a tuft of his hair between her clever fingers, tugging the strand just slightly on the too rough side of endearing. 

“Good night, Caleb.”

\---

Often they drew lots for their night watch, unless someone had some specific request for a certain shift. Usually they fought over the first shift, which was the best to be saddled with. But Verin had kindly (or knowingly) offered to take that one off of their plate, so that left Fjord dejectedly taking the middle shift and let Beauregard relieve him for the last few hours of the night. She preferred the earliest shift, apparently, as it gave her ample time to work through her morning stretches. 

Caleb was not going to argue with the opportunity to have a full night of sleep, anyway. 

He came awake gradually, a piercing white light pressing insistently against his eyelids. There was a bubble of warmth trapped beneath the blanket of his bedroll, and he found himself unwilling to move lest he disturb it. Nott was a warm body pressed against his chest, the notches of her spine digging roughly against his sternum. One of his hands lay tucked over her body, jostled lightly by her easy breathing as she snoozed. 

It reminded him, distantly, of cold nights spent tucked up in the haylofts of stinking barns and of interchangeable days ducked low in a cellhouse made of limestone. 

A tired sort of fondness swelled in his chest, a feeling of homecoming and fresh linen. Of being young and held by his mother in the big room of their small house. 

Something hard and firm collided with his back, and Caleb’s fingers twitched into the beginning of some runic gesture. He lurched upward, turning to face where the touch had come from, and found himself staring at Verin’s leg, boot outstretched and toe resting against the lip of his bedroll.

“Morning,” Verin beamed down at him, jostling his foot against the cut of Caleb’s thigh. “You should think about sleeping lighter, I could have slit your throat at any point during the night.”

Caleb glared in response, allowing all pretence of modesty to slip from his expression as he returned the man’s gaze. He was backlit by the white of the morning sun, hair tousled like thickets of spider web.

“You could have  _ tried _ ,” Nott murmured, back still turned to them and voice subdued with sleep. 

“It is the very least that we can all do,” Verin replied, voice softened at the edges by his smile. “We’re leaving in ten minutes, so up and at-em. Go have something to eat, chew some mint. Cad’ has some tea on and it’s pretty good.”

Caleb narrowed his eyes, scowling down at his clasped hands.  _ Cad? _ When had Caduceus become  _ Cad _ to him? Why did everyone in their little group so blindly overlook the hostility that curdled in this man? 

“Thank you,” Caleb bit out, as his groggy mind struggled to process the situation.  _ I think? _

Their morning routine was deeply ingrained now, and Caleb believed that he could probably dismantle their camp while blindfolded at this point. He tucked his bedroll up into a bundle, slipping it into the canvas of his travel pack. While he worked to kick some coverage of snow and dirt over the sputtering coals of their fire, Nott pressed a tankard with some lukewarm tea into his hand, and he nursed it as the rest of the group pulled themselves together. 

Beauregard still took some time to draw a kohl pencil around her eyes, using the reflection of Caduceus' shield as he held it aloft for her. 

Verin was ducked in some conversation with Caduceus, pressing up onto the toes of his boots in a futile attempt to leverage their height. His eyes tracked down to Beauregard, and his mouth pressed into a thin frown.

“Is that common where you are from?” he asked, leaning forward so that he could flicker his gaze from the woman’s scowl and to the glare of her reflection. 

“Depends who you ask,” Beauregard shrugged, disinterested. “If you asked my dad he’d probably go on a rant about how this little thing-” she wiggled the pencil between her fingers -”ruined his perfect daughter.”

“There is something very profound about how the mutual hatred of a terrible father can always be relied on to bring a group of strangers together,” Verin replied, and Beauregard’s mouth pulled into some grimace, as if wanting to smile but unsure how to. 

“My father was a good man,” Caleb interjected, just to be contradictory. 

“And mine is,” Caduceus frowned. 

Verin waved a hand dismissively, biting out some irked little sound. “You know what I meant, can we just get a move on? I’m not being paid to childmind.”

\---

Fifteen minutes and a series of barked commands from Fjord found them all packed up, laden down with their heavy packs and travel gear. Any impression of their camp was kicked beneath a flurry of fresh snow, Jester taking a little too much joy in the act of tromping through the area to conceal any remnants of their presence. 

Hiking in the snow is assuredly one of his least favourite things. Many things for Caleb have changed after meeting the Nein, and he certainly has found himself in more money than he could have even fathomed as a child - their local school house had not even bothered to teach him to count this high, it had been Trent that imbued that ambition into him. Despite the sudden influx of coin, Caleb found that he had kept his old boots, with their worn soles and laces nibbled by Frumpkin. They were comfortable, when they were not soaked through with damp snow. 

He couldn’t even feel his toes. 

Yasha and Fjord headed their venture, pressing forward into the pale wilderness. Some earthy scent was frozen in the air, a fresh bite that washed over his skin. In the distance the world swelled with a vacant sort of silence, only murmurs of the wind as it howled through the feeble branches of distant trees. 

“How’s your hand?” 

Caleb turned towards the voice, spying over his shoulder to find Verin pressing up behind him. His cloak was fastened up to his throat, some fur-line mimicry of the regal court attire that Essek so often dressed himself up in. There was no silver garnish, however, no flashy embellishments adorning his gear. 

“Well,” Caleb offered, holding out his hand to twist it before them. His skin was balmy and pale, his fingertips bruised purple by the cold. “I appreciate it, for what it matters.”

“You’re welcome,” Verin said, seemingly surprised if the way his voice stammered out was any indication. “I am not very good at it, so I was not sure if it would heal properly.”

“It would make no difference either way,” Caleb dismissed. In his peripheral Verin’s head snapped to face him, expression drawn into some confused squint. Caleb’s mind scrambled for some sort of placation, and traitorously it sought out Essek’s words from their lessons, always so soothing. “You did very well.”

“I-” Verin started, clenching his jaw closed around whatever words were poised on his tongue. “If any of you died under my watch I think that Essek would petition to have me stricken from the Den.”

“And he has the power to do that?” Caleb asked. 

“He thinks that he has the power to do anything,” Verin breathed. “Just because he can’t do it does not mean that he will not try. You’d be surprised at what he can accomplish when no one will tell him no.”

“And that falls to you, then?” Caleb pressed, keeping his eyes resolutely forward. “To tell him no?”

“I mean, I try to. Not that he ever deems my opinion to be worth much,” Verin heaved a humourless laugh. “He never even used to listen to dad.”

Caleb felt a smirk touch his mouth then, some distorted pride swelling in his chest. “I presumed that you would have been the problem child.”

“Oh, don’t misinterpret my words,” Verin said very seriously. “I was an absolute bastard. Every day that my mother did not disown me was a miracle, but I believe that only one of us grew out of being rebellious.”

“I see,” Caleb murmured, if only to encourage Verin to continue his rambling.

“He vouched for you all, after all. It is lucky you secured yourselves a friend in such high standing. If it were anyone other than the prodigy of the Dynasty I imagine that your head would be decorating a pike outside of the city.” Verin frowned then, his face drawing out of his humour and smoothing into a serious expression. When his eyes sought Caleb’s gaze neither of them looked away. “Do not drag my brother into any of your ploys.”

Gods, he was sincere, too. The look he fixed him with was entirely open, blue eyes dancing over Caleb’s expression recklessly. This was Verin, soldier and Taskhand of the Dynasty, pleading with Caleb to keep his brother out of Empire schemes. 

Caleb laughed, startled out of him like a cough. It was a weedy, feeble thing that turned to white mist on his lips. He raised a hand to press to his mouth, flattening his palm over his lips until he could feel the impression of his teeth. 

Verin, bless him, only levelled him with a confused frown. 

“I can assure you-” he bit out, shoulders still quaking- “that your brother is in no danger from the Empire due to  _ us _ .” His fingers traced up, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Considering that we are not allied with the Empire, nor do we serve them.”

Verin met his eye once more, confusion giving way to a smile that cut across his face like the swipe of a blade. “Good,” he nodded, withdrawing from Caleb and placing ample distance between them, much too far to hold a comfortable conversation. 

“Are you ever going to take my word on it?” Caleb asked, wincing at how his voice carried in the silence surrounding them. 

“Probably not,” Verin smiled, and for a brief moment Caleb wondered if that strange tone in his voice was supposed to be humour. “But I’ll catch you out at some point, Cay'.”

\---

The caverns, when they finally happened across them, were unassuming. They jutted only slightly out of the snowy landscape, capped with a veil of white. Their only distinguishing feature against the barren landscape was the pock-mark of black, the maw of the cave as it delved down into the tunnel system below. It could have been any other outcrop in the wilderness. It could have been something the Nein gladly would have used as refuge for the night. 

Caleb shivered at the thought, hitching his coat tighter around his body.

“I’ll leave you here,” Verin announced, as they all stared at the opening ahead of them. “I have my men to get back to, and I trust that you’re capable of fending for yourselves.”

He turned then, without waiting for any sort of acknowledgement, and began to trek back in the direction they had come from. He only made it a few steps before Caduceus called out to him, and he drew to a stop at the voice. He did not turn back to face them. 

“Verin,” Caduceus said, and even with his back to them Caleb watched as his shoulders drew up. “Thank you, I know that you didn’t have to help us as much as you did.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Verin bit out, much too quickly. He waved them off with a gloved hand, before flipping the black leather of his hood up and pressing away from them once more. 

“Do you think their entire family is that weird?” Beauregard asked, when he was only a dark blot in the distance. “Or do you think those two just got the short end of the stick?”

“Are we really in any position to be judging people on their ability to communicate healthily?” Caduceus replied, voice wrung with genuine curiosity. 

“I mean,” Beauregard shrugged, sparing a fleeting glance between the group. “We’ve been hypocrites before.”

“And on  _ that _ note,” Fjord interrupted, seeming entirely exhausted. “I think that we should actually get on with what we came out here for. The sooner we’re out of the snow the better.” 

They pressed forward until the cavern yawned open before them, the ceiling clambering up into some abyssal darkness. Beauregard tugged down her goggles and snapped them over her eyes, uttering a low impressed whistle as she craned her neck back to look upwards. Thickets of brittle grey shrubs crowded in clusters around the entrance, cropping up between rocks. Slimy looking moss clambered up the damp walls, slick with the dew of frost and snow. The entire thing reeked of musk, of old forgotten caverns and decay. Not even the heady stench of earth was enough to cover up the rot. 

Fjord glanced backwards, his slitted eyes locking onto Caleb who nodded silently. His fingers wove together, and with a deep breath he brought some life into the cantrip, drawing it out into the air between his palms. Three small lights flashed into existence ahead of them, glassy like little vials of starlight. 

Nott led the way, her deft fingers and boots probing for traps in the stonework. As they pressed forward the cavern sloped downwards gradually, and the tunnel narrowed until even Caleb and Beauregard were unable to walk side-by-side without pressing their shoulders together. The stench of damp grew intensely as they descended, and the lights cast severe shadows on those grey walls around them.

“We’re going to die down here,” Beauregard murmured, into the darkness beside him. 

Caleb felt his mouth twitch up into a grim smile, and he jostled her shoulder where it rested against him. “At least we save on the funeral,  _ ja _ ?”

“But I want a sky burial,” she whined, only half joking. 

“Shh,” Caduceus whispered, abruptly. All murmuring conversation died then, and every head turned expectantly towards Caduceus as he slumped down to shy away from the ceiling. “Did you all feel that?”

“Feel what?” Jester asked, raising a hand to press against her forehead. A frown touched her mouth before she instead reached out to touch the wall, tilting her head curiously. 

“The air,” Caduceus elaborated, “there’s a breeze up ahead.”

“That’s good, right?” Nott said, voice a nervous warble up ahead of them. That distinct fear there caused something in Caleb’s gut to lurch, overwhelmed by the urge to barge forward and fall to her side. 

“I mean,” Fjord hummed, “probably not.”

“I didn’t ask you,” Nott hissed, much to Fjord’s grumbled chagrin. 

As they delved further it was with more caution, with Caleb tasting ash in the back of his throat even as his head thrummed with a nervous mantra against his temple. After a few more minutes the breeze became more apparent, a whisper of fresh air washing over their skin and rippling through their hair like snaking fingers. 

A narrow slit appeared before them, the space beyond illuminated in a pale blue like so much glacial moonlight. A howling chatter of wind called out of the cave, and it was decidedly their best bet at finding any progress. 

“I guess I’ll go first,” Nott groused, when it became apparent the rest of the group was content to awkwardly glance at the entrance and then stare expectantly at one another. 

Caleb uttered a concerned noise, pressing forward against the heft of Fjord’s back to try and reach her side. By the time he squeezed between Yasha and the other man, Nott had dipped into the crevice and disappeared out of sight. 

Only silence followed her out of that cavern. Caleb pressed forward after her, pointedly ignoring Fjord’s startled shout for him to stop and shrugging off the hand that snatched at his sleeve. It was a squeeze to slide between the craggy rocks, and Caleb had to angle himself sideways to stop his halter from catching on the outcrop. 

The room, as he peered into it, opened out into a large oval shape, all smooth stone that was washed in bright blue sunlight, softened as it refracted through a sheet of glacial ice. Swells of melted snow trickled down from that crack in the high ceiling like a soft rainfall, melding into a pool in the centre of the floor. The ceiling clambered up, crowded with hanging green vines that shuddered in the breeze, and revealed a slot in the very top that allowed a veil of bright sunlight to cascade down and swell out into the chamber. 

Nott was standing in the centre of that room now, cast in that radiant light and peering around. Caleb pressed forward, until he was comfortably at her side. Only once he had checked her over for any injuries and found that she was fine did he look up to take in the rest of the room. Pressed firmly against a shrouded corner, completely detached from the veil of sunlight, there was a broad wooden table. A pile of heavy books and slabs of metallic sheets were stacked haphazardly on its surface, and the feeble legs seemed almost ready to buckle beneath the momentous weight. 

A few books were scattered amongst the debris, and Caleb found himself approaching without consulting his better judgement. A thin veneer of dust layered over the stack as he glanced over them, and Caleb plucked one up to rest in his hands even as he distantly acknowledged the heavy flow of boots on stone that announced his companions barging into the room.

A set of footsteps quickly approached, and Caleb angled towards the source to find Beauregard pressing towards him. Her goggles were still slanted across her eyes, concealing her expression. Her chin nodded downwards towards the table, and a troubled frown creased her mouth.

“Does that look familiar to you?” She asked.

Caleb turned to - presumably - follow her gaze, and he gradually processed the other trinkets he had ignored. A collection of helms were piled on the table, a curved breastplate and a few tatters of parchments and rich fabrics. Caleb’s eyes skittered across the brassy surface of the armour, latching onto an engraved sigil just over the breast plate.

“That’s-” he began, tongue feeling slow and heavy. 

“Dynasty armour,” Beauregard breathed, “like, almost exactly the same armour that Verin’s group wore.”

“Whoever lives here does not like scouts, then,” Caleb said. 

“Do you think Verin has anyone unaccounted for?” Beauregard pressed, reaching out a gloved hand to glance across the surface of the plate. Her brows knitted together to form a crease just above the bridge of her nose. 

“Huh,” she hissed out, skimming her hand over the sigil. “There’s not even any dust.”

“I am not an expert but I believe that things in these old places tend to get dusty very quickly,” Caleb replied, feeling an anxious tension begin to simmer in his gut, to pulse like venom in his blood. He held the book aloft as an afterthought. “This has dust on it.”

“So the armour is fresh,” Beauregard hissed. Then, whirling around on her heel so that she faced the wider room, she called out: “Jester!”

The woman responded easily, turning from where she had been peering along into another adjacent passage. She quickly fell to their side, a nervous tension pulling her shoulders up to her ears. 

“I do not like this place,” she mumbled as she approached. “It gives me the creeps.”

“Can you send a message to Verin?” Beauregard asked, pointedly. 

Something about the urgency of her tone must have clued Jester into the severity of the situation, because the woman quickly schooled her expression into an entirely serious frown as she nodded her assent. 

“Yeah of course, but what’s the matter-”

“We think one of his scouts has been killed,” Beauregard rapped her knuckles pointedly against the breastplate. The noise rolled through the room like thunder, echoing down the passageways. “And I want to check to see if that matches up with any reports; see if someone is missing.”

“Oh man,” Jester hissed. She raised a hand to rub over her cheek, the metal bands of her bracelets clattering with the motion. “Okay, I can do it, I’ll ask.” 

Jester closed her eyes tightly, screwing them shut so firmly that her nose scrunched up with little creases. “ _ Hey Verin! It’s me, I know, so soon! Look, we found some creepy armour and we think maybe one of your friends has been killed-” _

“Maybe we could have phrased it better,” Caleb offered into the terse silence that followed the message. 

Jester’s eyes flared open then, locking firmly onto Caleb’s face with a severe scowl. Her hands came to clutch together nervously over her stomach, fingers twisting into a lattice so tight that her knuckles paled. “He’s going to come back,” she said. 

“He’s going to be so  _ pissed _ ,” Beauregard grumbled, just as Caleb shared a deeply irritated sigh with her. 


End file.
